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€l)e  Wtxtk^  of  ^ai^at 

CENTENARY  EDITION 
VOLUME     XXX. 


SERAPH  IT  A 
THE   ALKAHEST 


I  I  t^ni/^S 


Jules  Girajde 


CoD-vTl&hl  i8g6  Vv  Roberls  Br 


Froccde  Goupil 


rr  A-rr.- 


"  She  drew  the  flower  from  her  bosom  and  showed  it 

to  them." 


BO 


5^1^ilo^opl)ical  ^tudie^ 


LA    COMEDIE    HUMAINE 

OF 

HONORE    DE    BALZAC 

TRANSLATED    BY 

KATHARINE    PRESCOTT   WORMELEY 

SERAPHITA 
THE  ALKAHEST 


3llustratfB  bg 
JULES    GIRARDET 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND    COMPANY 


Copyright,  1887,  1889,  1896, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 

Copyright,  1916, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


AU  rights  reserved. 


PQ 
lux 

MADAME  EVELINE  DE  HANSKA, 

ir^E   COMTESSE    RZEWUSKA. 


Madame,  —  Here  is  the  work  which  you  asked  of  me.  I 
am  happy,  in  thus  dedicating  it,  to  offer  you  a  proof  of  the 
respectful  affection  you  allow  me  to  bear  you.  If  I  am  re- 
proached for  impotence  in  this  attempt  to  draw  from  the 
depths  of  mysticism  a  book  which  seeks  to  give,  in  the  lucid 
transparency  of  our  beautiful  language,  the  luminous  poesy 
of  the  Orient,  to  you  the  blame  I  Did  you  not  command  this 
struggle  (resembling  that  of  Jacob)  by  telling  me  that  the 
most  imperfect  sketch  of  this  Figure,  dreamed  of  by  you,  as  it 
has  been  by  me  since  childhood,  would  still  be  something  to 
you? 

Here,  then,  it  is,  —  that  something.  Would  that  this  book 
could  belong  exclusively  to  noble  spirits,  preserved  like  yours 
from  worldly  pettiness  by  solitude  1  They  would  know  how 
to  oive  to  it  the  melodious  rhythm  that  it  lacks,  which  might 
have  made  it,  in  the  hands  of  a  poet,  the  glorious  epic  that 
France  still  awaits.  But  from  me  they  must  accept  it  as  one 
of  those  sculptured  balustrades,  carved  by  a  hand  of  faith,  on 
which  the  pilgrims  lean,  in  the  choir  of  some  glorious  chiu-ch, 
to  think  upon  the  end  of  man. 

I  am,  madame,  with  respect, 

Your  devoted  servant, 

DE  BALZAC. 


1052738 


CONTENTS. 


^crapfjita. 


PASS 

IXTRODUCTION vii 

I.    Seraphitus 1 

11.    Seraphita 31 

III.  Seraphita-Seraphitus 56 

IV.  The  Clouds  of  the  Sanctuary     ....  114 
V.    Farewell 165 

VI.    The  Path  to  Heaveii 171 

VII.   The  Assumption 186 


INTRODUCTION. 


It  is  highh'  probable  that  "  Seraphita  "  cost  its  author 
more  than  anj'  other  of  his  intellectual  offspring.      The 
evidence  of  this  appears  in  his  correspondence.     Writing 
to  Madame  Zulma  Carraud  in  January,  1834,  he  sajs, 
"  Seraphita  is  a  work  more  severe  than  any  other  upon 
the  writer."     What  he  thought  of  it  ma}-  be  gathered 
from  another  passage  in  the  same  letter,  in  which  he 
speaks  of  it  as  "a  work  as  much  beyond  '  Louis  Lam- 
bert'  as    'Louis   Lambert'  is  be^'ond   '  Gaudissart.' " 
As  he  proceeded  with  it  his  labor  became  more  intense. 
In  March,  1835,  writing  to  the  Duchesse  de  Castries, 
he  savs  :   "The  toil  upon  this  work  has  been  crushing 
and  terrible.      I  have  passed,  and  must  still  pass,  days 
and  nights  upon  it.    I  compose,  decompose,  and  recom- 
pose  it."     He  did  not  delude  himself  as  to  the  kind  of 
reception  it  was  likely  to  encounter :  '•  In  a  few  da^'S," 
he  observes,  "  all  will  have  been  said.      Either  I  shall 
have  won  fame  or  the  Parisians  will  have   failed   to 
understand  me.    And  inasmuch  as,  with  them,  mockery 
commonly  takes  the  place  of  understanding,  I  can  hope 
onh"  for  a  remote  and  tardy  success.    Eventually  appre- 
ciation will  come,  and  at  once  here  and  there.     For  the 


viii  Introduction. 

rest,  I  think  this  book  will  be  a  favorite  with  those  souls 
that  like  to  lose  themselves  in  the  spaces  of  infinity." 

There  is  a  legend  to  the  effect  that  Balzac  first  con- 
ceived the  idea  embodied  in  "  Seraphita"  while  contem- 
plating a  beautiful  sculptured  figure  of  an  angel  in  the 
studio  of  a  friend.  It  is  possible  that  he  himself  may 
have  made  this  statement,  for  he  was  fond  of  picturesque 
and  dramatic  incidents,  and  might  easily  have  ascribed 
to  a  trivial  occurrence  a  significance  greater  than  it  was 
entitled  to.  The  true  genesis  of  this,  perhaps  the  most 
remarkable  and  unquestionably  the  most  elevated  work 
of  fiction  ever  written,  is  fortunately  not  doubtful,  for 
the  proofs  are  in  the  book  itself.  "  Seraphita"  is  the 
natural  crowning  flower  of  that  philosophic  exposition 
begun  in  the  "  Peau  de  Chagrin,"  and  developed  so 
much  more  fully  in  " Louis  Lambert."  The  latter  work 
moreover  may  be  said  both  to  have  adumbrated  and 
necessitated  "  Seraphita  ;  "  and  it  is  proper  to  state  here 
that  whoever  wishes  to  grasp  the  full  meaning  of  this 
book  must  first  read  "Louis  Lambert,"  which  intro- 
duces and  to  a  considerable  extent  explains  the  present 
work.  The  profound  system  embodied  in  the  oracular 
fragments  which  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  rapt  young 
sage,  and  were  taken  down  and  preserved  by  the  faith- 
ful and  clear-sighted  Pauline  contains  the  interpretation 
of  the  marvellous  being  Balzac's  genius  has  set  in  that 
most  harmonious  and  appropriate  frame  of  the  Northern 
skies  and  snow-covered  plains,  frozen  fiords  and  black, 
ice-clad  mountains.  Indeed  there  is  nothing  more 
striking  in  this  masterpiece  than  the  beauty  and  ex- 


Introduction.  ix 

qnisite  taste  of  its  setting.  Tlieophile  Gautier  without 
exaorg:eration  styles  it  "  one  of  the  most  astonishing 
productions  of  modern  literature ; "  and  proceeds : 
"Never  did  Balzac  approach,  in  fact  almost  seize,  the 
ver}'  Ideal  of  Beauty  as  in  this  book  :  the  ascent  of  the 
mountain  has  in  it  something  ethereal,  supernatural, 
luminous,  which  lifts  one  above  the  earth.  The  onl^' 
colors  employed  are  the  blue  of  heaven  and  the  pure 
white  of  the  snow,  with  some  pearly  tints  for  the 
shadows.  We  know  nothing  more  ravishing  than  this 
opening." 

It  is  all  true.  Nowhere  have  Balzac's  artistic  deli- 
cacy and  spiritual  subtlety  been  so  victorious!}-  em- 
ploj'ed  as  in  the  conception  and  execution  of  "  Sera- 
phita."  There  is  no  change  in  it  from  lower  to  higher 
regions.  The  author  launches  himself  like  an  eagle 
from  a  cliff,  high  upon  the  bosom  of  the  loftier  atmos- 
phere, and  his  powerful  wings  sustain  him  to  the  end  at 
an  elevation  which  enables  the  reader  to  separate  him- 
self with  facilit}'  from  the  existence  of  vulgar  common- 
place, if  it  does  not  help  him  to  respire  easil}'  in  air  so 
rarefied  as  to  be  scarcely  adequate  to  the  expansion  of 
gross  and  fleshly  lungs.  To  Balzac  himself,  whose  ver- 
satilit}'  and  sympathetic  range  were  almost  as  broad 
and  deep  as  those  of  Nature,  this  final  flight  of  his 
philosophical  and  theosophical  exposition  was  painful 
and  laborious.  Like  Nature  he  could  compass  all  forms 
of  existence,  but,  like  Nature  too,  he  was  most  at  home 
in  the  free  working  of  tangible  matter.  In  the  "  Com- 
edie  Humaine  "  he  had  however  undertaken  to  picture 


X  Introduction. 

and  to  analj'ze  life  as  it  existed  in  his  period,  and  to 
Lim  this  meant  all  life,  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest. 
Shakspeare  is  the  only  other  writer  who  shows  the 
same  marvellous  breadth  of  scope  ;  to  whom  every  state 
and  condition  of  humanity  is  sympathetic ;  who  sees 
into  and  apprehends  every  form  of  existence ;  who  can 
put  himself  in  the  place  equally  of  the  outcast  and  the 
saint,  —  the  soul  black  with  sin  and  shame,  and  the  soul 
white  with  good  deeds  and  noble  aspirations.  These 
two,  Balzac  and  Shakspeare,  have  in  common  the' 
qualities  which  most  emphatically  denote  the  highest 
form  of  genius.  Among  those  qualities  the  precious 
endowment  of  Intuition  ranks  perhaps  the  highest.  It 
is  this  mysterious  and  magical  gift  which  explains  the 
influence  upon  the  human  mind  of  the  few  great  souls 
—  Specialists,  as  Louis  Lambert  st^'les  them  —  that 
have  appeared  at  long  intervals  through  the  ages  and 
have  left  their  mark  upon  generations  and  centuries. 

Louis  Lambert  declares  that  Jesus  Christ  was  a  Spe- 
cialist, and  the  interpretation  of  this  is  that  he  possessed 
the  power  of  striking  that  chord  which  vibrates  in  all 
hearts,  of  embodying  in  words  those  thoughts  whose 
expression  appeals  to  the  largest  audience  and  awakes 
the  deepest  and  purest  emotions.  The  great  Mother  of 
us  all,  from  whom  we  proceed,  in  whose  bosom  we 
must  lie,  has  the  same  characteristics,  the  same  fecundity, 
elasticity,  comprehensiveness,  and  sympathy.  Jesus, 
indeed,  came  at  a  time  when  there  was  little  laughter  in 
the  world.  Life  was  very  stern  and  grim  when  Rome 
was  the  mistress  of  the  known  habitable  globe.    It  could 


Introduction.  xi 

fiardly  have  been  deemed  worth  living  if  measured  by 
modern  gauges.  As  in  the  time  of  Gautama  Buddha,  five 
centuries  before,  the  central  problem  was  the  wretched- 
ness of  existence.  "We  who,  surrounded  bv  the  comforts 
and  luxuries  of  the  nineteenth  century,  stand  perplexed 
at  the  dark  and  gloomy  views  which  those  old  races 
seem  to  have  held  in  so  matter-of-course  a  wa\',  fail 
sufficiently  to  realize  the  actual  pressure  of  misery  upon 
the  great  majority  of  human  beings  at  those  periods. 
In  sad  truth,  life  was  to  them  a  painful  puzzle.  They 
were  not,  like  us,  chiefl}'  occupied  in  determining  how 
best  to  employ  it  and  derive  from  it  the  greatest  happi- 
ness or  usefulness.  Most  of  them  were  born  into  con- 
ditions escape  from  which  was  hopeless  and  continuance 
in  which  was  intolerable.  The}-  were  helpless  and  the}' 
suflcred.  What  wonder  if  the}'  looked  bewildered  to 
the  unanswering  sky,  questioned  the  dumb  face  of 
Nature,  and  lost  themselves  in  sombre  speculations  as 
to  the  why  and  wherefore  of  their  existence,  and  the 
causes  of  the  seemingly  purposeless  chain  of  being.  To 
them  deliverance  from  incarnation  was  the  first  requisite 
of  a  rational  gospel ;  and  this  deliverance  was  oflTered, 
though  in  different  ways,  by  the  two  great  Teachers 
whose  wisdom  and  promises  have  been  respectively  the 
Light  of  Asia  and  of  Christendom. 

To  understand  ' '  Seraphita  "  it  is  necessary  to  take  a 
somewhat  wide  preliminary  survey.  We  must  begin  by 
fixing  in  our  minds  the  scheme  of  evolution  which  it  is 
intended  to  illustrate  and  to  carry  to  its  farthest  mun- 
dane  development,    while   projecting   the   vision   even 


xii  Introduction. 

be}  ond  this  point,  and  foreshadowing  the  outlines  of  a 
higher  and  an  incorporeal  state  of  existence.  Human 
destin}',  according  to  this  theory,  is  a  painful  course  of 
elevation  and  emancipation  ;  a  working  out  of  what  we 
call  Matter  into  what  we  call  Spirit,  —  but  which  really 
is  merely  different  conditions  of  one  primal  substance. 
There  are  three  worlds  :  the  Material,  the  Spiritual,  and 
the  Divine.  These  three  worlds  must  be  traversed  in 
turn  by  the  souls  of  men,  which  in  these  journeyings 
must  pass  through  three  stages,  namely  the  Instinctive, 
the  Abstractive,  and  the  Specialist.  Now  the  soul  is 
guided  on  its  way  and  raised  gradually  by  the  influence 
of  Love.  First,  Self-Love  stimulates  and  urges  it 
onward  and  upward  until  the  clogging  stagnation  of 
Savager}'  is  escaped,  and  progress  toward  Barbarism 
and  thence  to  what  is  now  termed  Civilization,  is  se- 
cured. Second,  the  love  of  others.  Altruism,  supersedes 
Self-Love  in  the  most  advanced  men  and  women,  and 
then  the  time  is  ripe  for  the  establishment  of  those  great 
religions  which  in  their  infancj^,  when  the  central  doc- 
trine is  pure  and  fresh  and  full  of  magnetism,  sways 
peoples  and  countries  so  powerfully,  and  changes  the 
direction  of  the  age.  It  is  Altruism  which  has  produced 
all  the  highest  and  noblest  works  the  human  race  pos- 
sesses to-day.  It  is  that  which  is  at  the  root  of  Duty, 
Honor,  Faithfulness,  Loyalty,  Self-Sacrifice.  It  did  not 
indeed  have  to  be  invented  anew  for  modern  humanity 
as  the  lost  arts  in  many  cases  have  been,  for  Altruism 
was  never  dead.  But  for  long  ages  it  was  overlooked 
by  man,  for  its  hiding-place  was  then  in  the  breast  of 


Introduction.  xiii 

"Woman,  whose  tender  heart  served  as  tlie   Shechinah 
—  the  SanctuaiT  of  exiled  Unselfish  Love. 

Woman  practised  the  long- forgotten  virtue  while 
suffering  in  silence  the  tyrannj-  to  which  her  constitu- 
tional weakness  condemned  her.  From  the  beginning: 
she  has  been  the  chief  conservator  of  this  indispensable 
aid  to  the  higher  life.  If  she  has  not  succeeded  in 
manifesting  so  strikingl}-  as  advanced  men  the  service- 
ableness  of  Altruism  to  material  progress,  it  is  because 
the  repression  from  which  she  suffered  through  so  pro- 
tracted a  period  stunted  her  intellectual  growth,  and 
thus  rendered  her  deficient  in  the  capacity  to  apply 
practically  what  she  cultivated  almost  instinctively'. 
On  the  other  hand,  her  aptitude  was  greater  in  the 
direction  of  the  Divine.  There  her  facility  in  renuncia- 
tion assisted  her  greatly.  Her  experience  in  sorrow 
and  self-sacrifice  through  daily  life,  her  culture  in  the 
philosophy  of  patient  endurance,  her  habit  of  expending 
herself  upon  others,  all  fitted  her  in  an  especial  way  for 
ascent  towards  those  lofty  heights  of  emotion,  aspira- 
tion, and  ecstasy,  which  are  as  a  rule  known  only  by 
name  to  men.  It  is  b}'  the  Love  of  God  —  the  Divine 
Love — that  the  soul  must  be  guided  and  supported  in 
its  passage  through  the  third  sphere,  which  is  called  the 
Divine  World ;  and  to  this  cult  the  woman-nature  ad- 
dresses itself  with  less  reluctance  and  repugnance  than 
the  masculine  spirit,  so  deepl}'  attached  to  material 
interests,  so  unaccustomed  to  what  seem  the  cold 
abstractions  of  divinit}'.  As  the  Abstractive  condition 
prevails  more  and  more  it  carries  with  it  a  scepticism 


xiv  Introduction. 

which  to  the  timid  spectator  appears  to  threaten  Reli- 
gion with  total  extinction ;  and  as  the  tide  of  materi- 
alism flows  ever  deeper  and  wider  the  cult  of  the 
Supreme,  of  the  Unmanifest,  of  the  Spiritual  generally, 
is  maintained  by  women  almost  single-handed.  The 
French  Revolution  might  have  banished  Faith  from 
the  soil  of  France  had  not  the  women  refused  to  aban- 
don their  altars.  Even  to-day,  in  the  same  country, 
the  spiritual  elements  of  its  civilization  are  being  sup- 
plied mainly  by  the  same  humble  believers  in  the  Over- 
Soul.  As  to  the  men,  materialism  has  smothered  their 
higher  feelings,  and  caused  them  for  the  time  to  imagine 
that  they  are  or  can  be  content  with  a  world  from  which 
spirituality  is  excluded. 

The  function  of  the  Specialist,  following  Balzac's 
theosophy,  is  to  stimulate  and  develop  the  higher  cul- 
ture while  working  out  his  own  enfranchisement.  When 
the  world  has  proceeded  so  far  upon  the  path  of  purely 
material  evolution  as  to  threaten  a  fatally  one-sided 
outcome,  one  of  these  advanced  souls  is  incarnated  and 
lifts  the  divine  standard  anew.  The  very  fact  of  the 
close  commixture  between  Spirit  and  Matter  renders  it 
impossible  that  the  inclination  and  tendency  toward 
the  loftier  mysteries  of  life  should  ever  be  wholly  lost, 
and  when  the  wave  of  materialism  seems  at  its  height 
the  reaction  is  nearest  and  the  spirit  of  the  age  is  best 
prepared  for  fresh  impregnation  by  the  Logos.  No 
more  poetical  or  striking  picture  of  one  of  these  spirit- 
ual transmutations  can  be  found  than  that  which  the 
late  Matthew  Arnold   embodied  in  "  Obermann   once 


Introduction.  xv 

More."     This  was  the  world  of ''some  two  thousand 
years  "  since  : 

"  Like  ours  it  looked  in  outward  air, 
Its  head  was  clear  and  true, 
Sumptuous  its  clothing,  rich  its  fare, 
No  pause  its  action  knew ; 

"  Stout  was  its  arm,  each  thew  and  bone 
Seemed  puissant  and  alive, 
But,  ah!  its  heart,  its  heart  was  stone, 
And  so  it  could  not  thrive  ! 

•'  On  that  hard  Pagan  world  disgust 
And  secret  loathing  fell; 
Deep  weariness  and  sated  lust 
Made  human  life  a  hell. 

"  In  his  cool  hall,  with  haggard  eyes, 
The  Roman  noble  lay ; 
He  drove  abroad,  in  furious  guise, 
Along  the  Appian  way. 

"  He  made  a  feast,  drank  fierce  and  fast, 
And  crowned  his  hair  with  flowers ; 
No  easier  nor  no  quicker  passed 
The  impracticable  hours. 

"  The  brooding  East  with  awe  beheld 
Her  impious  younger  world , 
The  Roman  tempest  swelled  and  swelled, 
And  on  her  head  was  hurled. 

"  The  East  bowed  low  before  the  blast 
In  patient,  deep  disdain; 
She  let  the  legions  thunder  past, 
And  phinged  in  thought  again. 


xvi  Introduction. 

'*  So  well  she  mused,  a  morning  broke 
Across  her  spirit  gray ; 
A  conquering,  new-born  joy  awoke 
And  filled  her  life  with  day. 

"  '  Poor  world,'  she  cried,  '  so  deep  accurst, 
That  runn'st  from  pole  to  pole 
To  seek  a  draught  to  slake  thy  thirst,  — 
Go,  seek  it  in  thy  soul  ! ' 

"  She  heard  it,  the  victorious  West, 
In  crown  and  sword  arrayed, 
She  felt  the  void  which  mined  her  breast, 
She  shivered  and  obeyed. 

"  She  veiled  her  eagles,  snapped  her  sword, 
And  laid  her  sceptre  down; 
Her  stately  purple  she  abhorred, 
And  her  imperial  crown. 

"  Lust  of  the  eye  and  pride  of  life 
She  left  it  all  behind. 
And  hurried,  torn  with  inward  strife. 
The  wilderness  to  find. 

"  Tears  washed  the  trouble  from  her  face  I 
She  changed  into  a  child  ! 
'Mid  weeds  and  wrecks  she  stood,  —  a  place 
Of  ruin,  —  but  she  smiled!  " 

The  poet  intimates  that  the  influences  brought  by 
Christianity  are  now  exhausted,  that  they  have  ceased 
to  operate  because  faith  is  dead.  Yet  he  is  not  without 
hope  for  the  future.  Human  expectation,  raised  in 
modern  times  to  great  heights  by  the  promise  of  the 


Introduction.  xvii 

French  Revolution,  has  indeed  been  sadly  disappointed. 

Nevertheless, 

"  The  world's  great  order  dawns  in  sheen 
After  long  darkness  rude, 
Divinelier  imaged,  clearer  seen. 
With  happier  zeal  pursued." 

Despite  all  premature  confidence  and  too  sanguine 
anticipation,  there  is  warrant  for  the  inspiration  which 
leads  men  to  labor  for  the  attainment  of 

"  One  common  wave  of  thought  and  joy 
Lifting  mankind  again  !  " 

When  the  Hour  arrives  the  Man  will  appear.  That 
is  the  teaching  of  history  and  that  is  the  doctrine  of 
the  sages.  The  darkest  moments  are  those  which  pre- 
cede the  dawn,  and  it  is  at  what  seems  the  ver}'  point 
of  desperation  that  relief  is  given.  There  is  indeed 
nothing  occult  in  this  view.  It  is  founded  upon  ob- 
servation and  experience.  The  m5'ster3^  lies  in  the 
causes  of  these  opportune  and  portentous  events :  in 
the  evolution  of  the  Avatars  who  in  turn  appear  to 
change  a  world's  course  and  to  rekindle  the  pure  flame 
of  Religion  and  Spirituality.  Balzac,  however,  has  not 
encumbered  his  subtle  and  profound  study,  as  an  in- 
ferior artist  would  have  been  apt  to  do,  by  showing  the 
Specialist  in  the  discharge  of  his  function  of  Deliverer. 
His  purpose  was  to  exhibit  and  analyze,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, that  rare  and  precious  form  of  existence  in  which 
the  progress  of  the  spirit  toward  the  Divine  has  been 
carried  so  far  as  to  render  continued  toleration  of  earthly 


xviii  Introduction. 

life  impossible.  Seraphita  is  the  Specialist  upon  whom 
no  world-mission  has  been  laid  ;  a  final  efRorescence  of 
long-cultivated  spiritualitj^ ;  the  last,  most  delicate  and 
fragile  link  between  Mortality  and  Immortality.  In  the 
androgynous  symbolism  under  which  Seraphita  is  pre- 
sented, the  author  has  embodied  an  archaic  and  profound 
doctrine.  The  male  and  female  qualities  and  character- 
istics are  so  manifestly  complementary  that  human 
thought  at  a  comparatively  early  stage  arrived  at  the 
idea  of  the  original  union  of  the  sexes  in  one  relativel}' 
perfect  and  self-sufficient  being.  In  the  Divine  World, 
according  to  Swedenborg,  such  a  union  consummates 
the  attachment  of  those  souls  which  during  their  cor- 
poreal life  have  been  in  complete  sympathy.  The  Angel 
of  Love  and  the  Angel  of  Wisdom  combine  to  form  a 
single  being  which  possesses  both  their  qualities. 

To  the  theory  of  spiritual  evolution  taught  by  Swe- 
denborg the  doctrine  of  metempsychosis,  or  as  it  is  more 
commonly  termed  at  present,  the  doctrine  of  re-incar- 
nation, is  necessary.  This  doctrine  may  be  traced  to 
a  remote  antiquity,  and  while  it  is  still  comparatively 
unfamiliar  to  the  Western  world,  it  has  for  ages  been 
at  the  very  foundation  of  all  Eastern  religion  and  phi- 
losophy. The  Rev.  William  R.  Alger,  in  his  "Critical 
History  of  the  Doctrine  of  a  Future  Life,"  observes 
upon  this  subject:  "No  other  doctrine  has  exerted  so 
extensive,  controlling,  and  permanent  an  influence 
upon  mankind  as  that  of  the  metempsychosis,  —  the 
notion  that  when  the  soul  leaves  the  body  it  is  born 
anew   in   another  bodj',    its   rank,    character,    circum- 


Introduction.  xix 

stances,  and  experience  in  each  successive  existence 
depending  on  its  qualities,  deeds,  and  attainments  in 
its  preceding  lives.  Such  a  theorj*,  well  matured,  bore 
unresisted  sway  through  the  great  Eastern  world  long 
before  Moses  slept  in  his  little  ark  of  bulrushes  on  the 
shore  of  the  Eg3ptian  river ;  Alexander  the  Great  gazed 
with  amazement  on  the  self-immolation  by  fire  to  which 
it  inspired  the  Gymnosophists ;  Caesar  found  its  tenets 
propagated  among  the  Gauls  beyond  the  Rubicon ; 
and  at  this  hour  it  reigns  despotic,  as  the  learned 
and  travelled  Professor  of  Sanscrit  at  Oxford  tells  us, 
'  without  any  sign  of  decrepitude  or  deca}-,  over  the 
Burman,  Chinese,  Tartar,  Tibetan,  and  Indian  nations, 
including  at  least  six  hundred  and  fifty  millions  of 
mankind.'  There  is  abundant  evidence  to  prove  that 
this  scheme  of  thought  prevailed  at  a  very  earl}'  period 
among  the  Egyptians,  all  classes  and  sects  of  the 
Hindus,  the  Persian  disciples  of  the  Magi,  and  the 
Druids,  and,  in  a  later  age,  among  the  Greeks  and 
Romans  as  represented  by  Musseus,  P^'thagoras,  Plato, 
Plotinus,  Macrobius,  Ovid,  and  many  others.  It  was 
generally  adopted  by  the  Jews  from  the  time  of  the 
Babylonian  captivity.  Traces  of  it  have  been  discov- 
ered among  the  ancient  Scj'thians,  the  African  tribes, 
some  of  the  Pacific  Islanders,  and  various  aboriginal 
nations  both  of  North  and  of  South  America." 

In  fact  there  is  scarcely  a  division  of  the  human 
family,  advanced  at  all  beyond  the  stage  of  savagery, 
in  which  either  the  germs  of  this  theory  or  the  fully 
developed  belief  may  not  be  discovered.     The  form  in 


XX.  Introduction. 

which  it  has  been  held  differs.  Thus  the  Platonists 
and  Pythagoreans  supposed  that  human  souls  might 
inhabit  the  bodies  of  animals,  birds,  etc.  The  Mani- 
cheans  went  further,  and  taught  that  such  spirits  might 
be  reborn  in  vegetable  forms ;  and  some  have  even 
imagined  that  sin  and  degradation  could  condemn  hu- 
man souls  to  imprisonment  in  rocks,  stones,  or  the 
dust  of  the  field.  The  Talmudists,  the  teachers  of 
Oriental  esotericism,  and  generally  speaking  the  older 
and  more  authoritative  exponents  of  the  wisdom- 
religion,  maintained  that  human  souls  transmigrated 
through  human  bodies  alone,  rising,  step  by  step,  to 
higher  planes.  A  very  convenient  collection  of  opiuions 
upon  re-incarnation  has  lateU'  been  published  by  Mr. 
E.  D.  Walker,  and  this  work  may  be  commended  to 
those  who  desire  to  realize  something  of  the  extent  to 
which  the  doctrine  has  been  held  both  in  the  past  and 
the  present.  By  abundant  quotations  Mr.  Walker 
shows,  not  only  that  it  was  a  cardinal  tenet  of  the 
so-called  Pagan  religions,  but  that  many  of  the  early 
Christians  —  notably  Origen  —  maintained  it ;  while  the 
array  of  modern  philosophers,  poets,  men  of  science,  and 
theologians  who  have  even  in  recent  times  received  it  is 
well  calculated  to  give  pause  to  reflective  minds.  Such 
names  as  Kant,  Schelling,  Leibnitz,  Schopenhauer, 
Bruno,  Herder,  Lessing,  Goethe,  Boehme,  Fichte,  and 
others,  are  found  in  the  list,  and  even  the  sceptical 
Hume,  in  his  essay  on  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul, 
observes:  "The  metempsychosis  is  therefore  the  only 
©ystem  of  this  kind  that  philosophy-  can  hearken  to." 


Introduction.  xxi 

Schopenhauer  declares  that  "  the  belief  in  nietem- 
ps^xhosis  presents  itself  as  the  natural  conviction  of 
man,  whenever  he  reflects  at  all  in  an  unprejudiced 
manner.  It  would  reall}'  be  that  which  Kant  falsely 
asserts  of  his  three  pretended  Ideas  of  the  reason,  a 
philosopheme  natural  to  human  reason,  which  proceeds 
from  its  forms  ;  and  when  it  is  not  found  it  must  have 
been  displaced  by  positive  religious  doctrines  coming 
from  a  different  source.  I  have  also  remarked  that  it  is 
at  once  obvious  to  everj'  one  who  hears  of  it  for  the  first 
time."  The  same  writer  observes  further:  "  In  Chris- 
tianity, however,  the  doctrine  of  original  sin,  that  is, 
the  doctrine  of  punishment  for  the  sins  of  another  in- 
dividual, has  taken  the  place  of  the  transmigration  of 
souls  and  the  expiation  in  this  way  of  all  the  sins  com- 
mitted in  an  earlier  life.  Both  identify,  and  that  with 
a  moral  tendency,  the  existing  man  with  one  who  has 
existed  before ;  the  transmigration  of  souls  does  so 
directly,  original  sin  indirectly."  This  venerable  doc- 
trine, proceding  in  an  unbroken  line  from  the  pre-Vedic 
period  to  the  present  time,  and  held  even  now  by  the 
larger  moiety  of  the  earth's  inhabitants,  is,  as  Schopen- 
hauer remarks,  a  natural  belief;  for  it  is  that  which 
most  rationally  and  plausibly  accounts  for  the  most 
perplexing  mysteries  of  existence.  As  developed  by 
the  subtle  Hindu  intellect  it  is  full  of  attraction  and 
persuasion  to  unprejudiced  minds,  and  when  the  so- 
called  law  of  Karma  is  applied  to  it,  the  resulting 
scheme  may  well  seem  to  embrace  and  explain  the 
most  formidable  considerations  and  objections. 


xxii  Introduction. 

Schopenhauer,  it  is  true,  raises  the  objection  that  in 
the  Buddhist  (or  Hindu)  doctrine  of  metempsychosis  the 
discontinuousness  of  memory  between  re-births  prac- 
ticalk  renders  the  process  palingenesis  and  not  metem- 
psychosis. The  German  philosopher,  however,  but 
imperfectly  apprehended  the  doctrine  which  he  adapted 
so  closely;  for  his  substitution  of  the  "will  to  live" 
for  ' '  Karma  "  is  really  little  more  than  a  change  of 
terminology,  his  theory  of  the  functions  of  Will  being 
at  bottom  a  Germanization  of  the  law  of  Karma.  Had 
he  lived  to  stud}'  the  later  developments  of  Asiatic 
philosoph}'  and  metaphysics,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that 
so  open  and  clear  an  intelligence  would  have  recognized 
the  force  of  those  deeper  implications  which  round  out 
and  give  consistenc}-  and  completeness  to  the  Oriental 
scheme  of  thought,  and  dissipate  the  surface  difficulties 
of  the  subject.  The  advances  made  recently  in  Western 
psychology  have  contributed  to  the  growth  of  a  better 
understanding  on  many  points,  and  among  the  most 
suggestive  and  illuminating  studies  ma}'  be  cited  those 
of  Ribot  on  disease  of  the  memory,  and  on  double  and 
other  abnormal  conditions  of  personality.  The  per- 
sistence of  memory  was  held  to  be  indispensable  to  a 
true  metempsychosis  by  Schopenhauer  because  he  had 
no  conception  of  the  refinements  of  Hindu  speculation, 
which  postulate  the  deathless  principle  of  man  as  a 
congeries  of  separable  parts,  to  the  perishable  among 
which  physical  recollection  belongs.  The  Hindu  posits, 
however,  an  undying  psychical  memory,  which  is  incog- 
nizable by  the  incarnate  soul,  but  which,  nevertheless, 


Introduction.  xxiii 

stores  up  ever}-  event  of  the  numerous  transmigrations 
through  which  it  passes,  to  bring  the  whole  series  into 
the  consciousness  of  the  persistent  spirit  when  it  has 
accomplished  all  its  educational  changes,  and  has  at- 
tained an  elevation  which  enables  it  full}'  to  comprehend 
itself  and  its  evolution. 

Science,  nay,  common  experience  and  observation, 
throw  some  hght  upon  this  difficult  subject.  The 
phenomena  of  normal  sleep  serve  to  show  how  the 
persistence  of  ph3'sical  life  is  maintained  notwithstand- 
ing periodical,  frequent,  and  continuous  lapses  of  con- 
sciousness. The  rarer  phenomena  of  double  personality, 
so  carefully  studied  b}-  Charcot,  Azam,  Biuet,  Ribot, 
Liegois,  and  others,  emphasize  the  lessons  of  everj'-day 
experience  in  this  direction.  The  remarkable  cases  in 
which,  memor}-  having  been  lost  for  considerable  periods 
of  time,  it  has  been  recovered  as  suddenh-  as  it  had 
disappeared,  point  out  the  lines  of  reasoning  upon  which 
the  apparent  change  of  personalit}'  maj'  be  reconciled 
with  latent  persistence  and  continuation  of  individu- 
ality. And  indeed  Schopenhauer  might  have  perceived 
that  the  action  of  the  Hindu  law  of  Karma  would  be 
futile  and  purposeless  if,  as  he  concluded,  each  re-birth 
involved,  to  all  practical  intents,  the  creation  of  a  new 
person.  For  to  what  end  should  the  results  of  acts 
done  in  a  former  life  follow  and  modif}'  the  succeeding 
incarnation  if  the  two  existences  had  no  connection? 
Schopenhauer's  misapprehension  on  this  point  was 
indeed  far-reaching  in  its  effect ;  for  it  led  him  to 
postulate  a  contradiction   in   terms,  —  an  uuoonscious 


xxiv  Introduction. 

Will-force,  namely.  Volition  implies  consciousness, 
and  unconscious  volition  is  unthinkable,  a  mere  ar- 
rangement of  words  representing  no  comprehensible 
idea. 

Swedenborg,  with  all  his  crudities  and  anthropo- 
morphic fancies,  was  far  more  logical  in  his  theory-  of 
metempsychosis,  which  is  in  fact  in  many  particulars 
accordant  with  the  Hindu  doctrine.  Re-incarnation, 
according  to  the  Swedish  Sage,  is  a  process  whereby-  the 
evolution  of  the  higher  faculties  is  made  possible.  In 
common  with  many  of  the  most  profound  and  lucid 
thinkers,  he  perceived  the  inadequacy  of  a  single  life- 
time to  the  work  of  ps^-chical  evolution,  and  he  adopted, 
or  attained  b}-  independent  or  intuitional  methods,  the 
Oriental  explanation  of  that  lapse  of  consciousness 
which  Tennyson  refers  to  in  the  lines :  — 

"  Or,  if  through  lower  lives  I  came, 
Though  all  experience  past  became 
Consolidate  in  mind  and  frame, 

"  I  might  forget  my  weaker  lot  ; 
For  is  not  our  first  year  forgot  ? 
The  haunts  of  memory  echo  not. 

"  Some  draught  of  Lethe  doth  await 
As  old  mythologies  relate, 
The  slipping  through  from  state  to  state." 

As  with  the  Hindus,  he  held  that  the  break  in  memory 
which  signalized  the  completion  of  a  ph^'sical  existence 
was  itself  a  physical  phenomenon  ;  but  that  the  psjx-hical 
processes  of  evolution  went  on  unaffected  by  the  changes 


Introduction.  xxv 

of  death  and  re-birth,  and  that  among  these  processes 
was  the  transmission,  across  the  gap  caused  by  death, 
of  the  quaUties  and  tendencies  and  spiritual  attainments 
belonging  to  the  individual  undergoing  re-incarnation. 
In  Oriental  terminology  Swedenborg's  embryo  Angels 
were  the  products  of  continued  operation  of  good 
Karma.  They  represented  the  best  results  of  human 
aspiration  faithfully  maintained  until  the  upward  yearn- 
ing had  destroyed  the  strong  attachments  to  earth  and 
qualified  the  spirit  to  breathe  the  rarefied  atmosphere  of 
the  Divine  World.  In  this  evolutionary  process,  more- 
over, the  highest  examples  of  human  development  were 
reached,  and  in  these  a  type  was  attained  which  ex- 
hibited the  ideal  of  humanity  as  it  was  or  as  it  might 
have  been  immediately  after  the  descent  of  Spirit  into 
Matter,  and  before  that  Fall  which  in  the  symbolism 
of  the  occultists  signifies  the  victory  of  Materialism  over 
Spirituality,  the  beginning  of  that  long  course  of  mun- 
dane and  gross  development  which  men  call  civiliza- 
tion, and  which  has  blinded  them,  by  its  material  gains, 
to  the  extent  of  the  divergence  of  the  race  from  its  only 
permanent  and  worthy  interests. 

Seraphita  was  conceived  by  Balzac  in  a  moment  of 
supreme  insight  and  inspiration,  to  embody  Sweden- 
borg's noblest  ideas.  Not  that  Swedenborg  can  be 
regarded  as  the  originator  of  the  theory  which  he  ex- 
panded and  modified  and  stamped  with  his  own  in- 
dividuality and  his  own  imperfectly  developed  spiritual 
perceptions.  For  it  must  be  admitted  by  all  candid 
Btudents  of  the  Seer  that  his  supposed  revelations  are 


XX  vi  Introduction. 

often  clogged  and  overlaid  with  the  most  palpable 
anthropomorphism  ;  that  he  derives  his  notions  of  celes- 
tial phenomena  and  existences  from  his  personal  envi- 
ronment with  a  curious  childish  simplicitj'  at  times ; 
that  he  exhibits  in  many  waj-s  his  inadequac}^  as  the 
vehicle  of  supra-mundane  communications  ;  and  his  in- 
ability, partly  through  ph3'sical,  partly  through  intel- 
lectual conditions,  to  transmit  with  fidelity  or  even  to 
observe  with  accuracy  that  which  was  presented  to  his 
internal  vision.  Indeed  it  may  be  said  that  whoever 
wishes  to  enjoy  the  beauties  which  undoubtedly  subsist 
in  his  writings  must  be  prepared  to  submit  them  to 
a  certain  analytic  and  refining  process.  For  they  may 
be  likened  to  the  great  world-religions,  which,  issuing 
clearly  and  nobly  from  their  sources,  have  in  time 
become  discolored  and  polluted  and  changed  sometimes 
into  quite  unsavory-  and  ignoble  streams  b}'  the  opera- 
tion upon  them,  during  long  periods,  of  all  the  gross- 
ness,  perversity,  materialism,  selfishness,  mendacity, 
and  iniquity  which  men  bring  to  the  amelioration  of 
their  condition  and  the  improvement  of  the  creeds  upon 
which  the}'  profess  to  rel}'  for  the  securitj'  of  their  future 
well-being.  Not  to  carry  the  parallel  too  far,  it  should 
be  distinctly  stated  that  Swedenborg  assuredly  infused 
no  elements  of  evil  into  his  representations  and  interpre- 
tations. He  erred  solely  through  temperament,  and  it 
may  be  surmised  that  the  first  period  of  his  life,  which 
was  devoted  to  stud}-  in  the  phj-sical  sciences,  strength- 
ened in  him  that  unconscious  tendency  to  materialize 
spiritual  things  which  is  characteristic  of  his  writino:s, 


Introduction.  xxvii 

and  which  imparts  to  much  of  his  description  of  the 
higher  spheres  so  strange  and  infelicitous  an  atmosphere 
of  earthly  commonplace. 

To  penetrate  to  the  heart  of  his  subject  it  is  therefore 
necessary  to  clear  awaj'  a  good  deal  of  obstructive  and 
non-essential  matter.  Had  the  Sage  been  a  poet  he 
would  certainly  have  written  more  interestingly,  and 
it  may  even  be  thought  perhaps,  more  accurately,  con- 
cerning many  minor  details.  But  the  broad  outlines, 
the  firm  framework  of  his  system,  remain  entirely  un- 
affected by  his  lack  of  imagination  and  grace  of  fancy  ; 
and  it  is  upon  the  body  of  doctrine  itself,  and  not  upon 
the  narrative  powers  of  the  Seer,  that  his  reputation 
and  the  vitalit}'  of  his  teaching  must  rest.  Here  there 
is  no  defect  of  nobility,  no  sign  of  narrowness,  no  sub- 
servience to  inherited  beliefs,  no  undue  elevation  of 
sj'mbolic  or  ceremonial  hypotheses.  From  the  volu- 
minous theological  library  given  out  by  him  during  his 
life  and  added  to  hy  posthumous  publications,  may  be 
obtained  a  perfectly  harmonious,  essentially  lofty,  and 
intellectually  attractive  religious  scheme  and  cosmo- 
logical  theory,  though  the  latter  is  less  easil.y  cleared 
from  its  impediments  than  the  former.  It  would  not 
be  possible,  even  were  it  desirable,  to  indicate  more 
than  the  outlines  of  this  s^'stem  here.  Balzac  himself 
has  presented  all  that  he  thought  necessary  to  the  com- 
prehension of  "  Seraphita,"  in  the  following  pages,  and 
it  is  the  purpose  of  this  introduction  principally  to 
supply  explanations  which  he  omitted,  perhaps  because, 
coming  fresh  from  mystical  and  occult  studies  which  had 


xxviii  Introduction. 

filled   his  mind  to  saturation,   he  took   too   much   for 
granted  the  intellectual  preparation  of  his  readers. 

One  interesting  consideration  related  to  the  pecu- 
liarities of  Swedenborg's  writings  remains  to  be  pointed 
out,  and  it  has  a  wide  bearing.  All  who  are  sufflcienth' 
interested  in  spiritual  things  to  have  examined  what 
may  be  called  the  literature  of  revelation,  have  prob- 
abl}-  been  perplexed  and  possibl}'^  discouraged,  by  the 
innumerable  contradictions  and  discrepancies  which 
are  apparent  in  this  branch  of  mysticism.  Relations 
purporting  to  embodj'  truthful  presentations  of  the 
unseen  universe,  and  believed  by  the  Seers  to  be  faith- 
ful records  of  true  visions,  offer,  when  compared,  ap- 
parently hopeless  and  inexplicable  divergencies.  One 
consequence  of  this  striking  lack  of  harmony  and  con- 
sistency has  natural!}'  been  to  reinforce  scejiticism,  and 
to  give  ground  for  the  facile  explanation  of  all  such 
representations  upon  the  theory  of  hallucination  or  dis- 
ordered imagination.  Such  as  are  content  with  that 
explanation  cannot  be  expected  to  make  an}'  farther 
inquiry-  into  the  subject ;  and  this  is  the  case  with  the 
majoritj',  who  regard  with  concealed  or  open  dissatis- 
faction any  hj'pothesis  which  b}'  broadening  the  area  of 
existence  threatens  to  increase  its  responsibilities  and 
extend  its  obligations.  On  the  other  hand,  there  will 
always  be  a  considerable  minority'  the  character  of 
whose  minds  leads  them  to  explore  the  unknown,  and 
the  dominant  influence  of  whose  spiritual  elements  com- 
pels them  to  accept  the  possibilitj-  of  a  higher  life  be- 
yond the  grave,  and  under  conditions  difficult  alike  of 


Introduction. 


XXIX 


conception  and  comprehension.  These  inquirers  are 
aware  that  according  to  analogy  the  problem  referred 
to  is  not  incapable  of  solution.  Even  in  purely-  material 
life,  for  example,  observation  is  invariably  colored  and 
modified  by  the  personality  of  the  observer.  Every 
court  of  justice  is  a  perpetual  reminder  of  this.  Human 
evidence  concerning  the  most  ordinary  matters  differs 
radically  according  to  the  character  of  the  witnesses. 
Six  men  seeing  the  same  thing  will  each  give  a  differ- 
ent account  of  it,  and  they  will  rarely  be  found  in 
agreement  even  as  to  essentials.  Put  six  men  into  new 
and  strange  conditions,  let  them  witness  something  the 
like  of  which  none  of  them  has  ever  seen  before,  and 
which  is  in  itself  seemingly  opposed  to  all  their  expe- 
rience, and  we  must  expect  still  more  divergent  and 
irreconcilable  reports.  In  such  a  case  the  evidence 
would  be  practically  of  no  use  in  forming  a  conclusion. 

In  the  researches  by  which  men  have  sought  to  ob- 
tain knowledge  of  the  supra-mundane  the  inherent  diffi- 
culties must  necessarily  be  very  much  greater.  Supposing, 
for  the  purpose  of  the  argument,  that  it  is  possible  for  cer- 
tain peculiarly  spiritual  persons,  by  mental  and  physical 
discipline  and  preparation,  or  by  natural  aptitude,  to  pene- 
trate behind  the  veil  of  Matter  and  obtain  glimpses  into 
the- region  of  Spirit,  it  is  nevertheless  not  credible  that 
such  persons  should,  while  in  the  body,  be  capable  either 
c»f  clearly  seeing  or  correctly  repeating  what  they  have 
seen.  For  however  their  spiritual  perception  may  have 
been  strengthened  and  clarified,  it  is  obvious  that  its 
vehicle  is  ill  adapted  to  the  work  of  observation  in  so 


xxxii  Introduction. 

qualified  to  do  much  more  harm  than  good  by  dissemi- 
nating views  which  perhaps  his  personal  character  in- 
vests with  a  factitious  authorit}'.  Nevertheless,  the 
possibility-  of  a  certain  insight  to  the  phenomena  of 
other  conditions  of  existence  is  unaffected  b}-  these 
considerations,  which  after  all  only  go  to  show  the 
urgent  need  of  caution  both  in  essaying  such  excursions 
into  the  supra-mundane,  and  in  dealing  with  the  repre- 
sentations subsequently  offered  concerning  discoveries 
made  in  them.  It  is  perhaps  scarcely  necessar3'  to  point 
out  that  the  novelist  who  undertakes  such  a  theme  ae 
that  of  "Seraphita"  must  work  under  unfamiliar  condi- 
tions. He  is  not  free  to  give  the  reins  to  his  imagina- 
tion. He  must  be  careful  to  maintain  communication 
with  his  base,  to  use  a  military  figure.  He  cannot  em- 
plo3'  machinery  wholly  unknown  to  his  public,  but  must 
confine  his  efforts  to  embellishing  and  expanding  those 
popular  conceptions  of  spiritual  phenomena  reference 
to  which  is  readil}'  understood,  even  though  the  prevail- 
ing ideas  maj^  be  poor,  or  grotesque,  or  gross.  In 
"  Seraphita"  Balzac  has  followed  this  course  with  the 
success  to  have  been  expected  from  the  versatility  and 
subtlety  of  his  genius.  He  has  produced  the  most  lofty 
and  beautiful  spiritual  fiction  to  be  found  in  literature. 

Brief  reference  has  been  made  alread}'  to  a  striking 
peculiarit}'  in  the  portrait  of  Seraphita,  —  the  fact, 
namely,  that  to  Minna  she  conveys  the  impression  of 
masculinit}'  and  to  "Wilfrid  that  of  womanhood.  So 
strange  a  confusion  of  sex,  or  perhaps  it  would  be  more 
exact  to  say  so  strange  a  dualism,  certainly  required 


Introduction.  xxxiii 

more  explanation  than  Balzac  has  seen  fit  to  offer ;  and 
as  the  ideas  involved  relate  to  very  ancient  and  recon- 
dite doctrines,  it  is  necessary  to  treat  the  subject  some- 
what fully.  Seraphita  is  intended  to  typify  the  nearest 
approach  to  physical  and  psychical  perfection  possible 
under  the  limitations  of  human  existence.  The  whole 
narrative  of  her  birth  and  training  indicates  this.  Her 
parents  are  devout  followers  of  Swedenborg,  to  whom 
they  are  related.  There  is  much  more  of  mystical 
spiritualit}'  than  of  material  relations  about  their  union 
and  married  life.  In  fact,  the  chief  aim  and  end  of  both 
their  lives  seems  to  have  been  the  securing  of  the  proper 
conditions  for  the  generation  of  a  being  who  should  be 
so  pure  and  so  in  harmony  with  celestial  things  from 
her  birth  as  to  be  capable  of  accomplishing  in  one  incar- 
nation the  transition  from  the  mortal  to  the  divine. 
Seraphita  as  here  represented  offers  curious  analogies 
with  Oriental  theosophy.  One  might  say  that  in  Eastern 
terminology  she  was  born  to  Arhatship  ;  and  that  though 
for  her,  as  for  all  merely  human  beings,  temptation  and 
trial  were  unavoidable,  her  triumph  was  no  less  certain 
than  that  which  Gotama  Buddha  attained  to  as  the  cul- 
mination of  his  vigil  under  the  Bodhi  tree.  But  the  North- 
ern ideal  of  human  perfection  embraced  some  conceptions 
which  were  less  congenial  to  the  Oriental  intellect.  It  is 
one  of  the  central  merits  of  Christianity  that  it  did  much 
to  recover  for  Woman  the  position  too  long  denied  her  in 
the  psychical  scheme.  Buddha  indeed  went  far  beyond 
his  Asiatic  predecessors  in  this  direction.  He  admitted 
women  to  all  the  spiritual  gains  open  to  men,  with  one 


xxxiv  Introduction. 

exception.  Xo  woman  could  be  a  Buddha,  according 
to  him,  though  an}'  woman  might  elevate  herself  to 
Arhatship.  Christianity  raised  woman  to  the  highest 
celestial  dignities,  and  if  in  process  of  time  superstition 
and  bigotry  warped  and  travestied  the  original  pure 
symbolism  and  the  earh'  doctrines  of  the  creed,  much 
solid  good  remained  from  the  mere  familiarizing  of 
men's  minds  with  the  higher  view  of  womanly  excel- 
lences and  capacities. 

In  the  esoteric  creeds  of  many  peoples,  but  chiefly 
those  of  European  habitat,  the  place  of  Woman  has  for 
ages  been,  not  merelj*  among  the  highest,  but  literally 
the  highest.  She  symbolized  the  Soul  in  the  beautiful 
mj'th  of  Ps3'che.  She  was  the  spiritual  element  in 
humanity,  lacking  union  with  which  mankind  must  be 
chained  forever  to  the  material,  and  waste  his  energies 
in  struggles  and  labors  which,  even  when  most  suc- 
cessful, onl}'  carried  him  farther  from  the  true  purpose 
of  life.,  and  rendered  emancipation  from  carnal  con- 
ditions more  tedious  and  difficult.  Something  of  this 
venerable  doctrine  may  be  gathered  from  the  following 
citations,  which  occur  in  that  beautifully  written  but 
mystical  work  called  "  The  Perfect  Way."  Speaking  of 
the  "  substance  of  existence,"  the  authors  say  :  "  As 
Living  Substance,  God  is  One,  As  Life  and  Sub- 
stance, God  is  Twain.  He  is  the  Life,  and  She  is 
the  Substance.  And  to  speak  of  Her  is  to  speak  of 
Woman  in  her  supremest  mode.  She  is  not  '  Nature  ; ' 
Nature  is  the  manifestation  of  the  qualities  and  prop- 
erties with  which,  under  suflFusion  of  the  Life  and  Spirits 


Introduction.  xxxv 

of  God,  Substance  is  endowed.  She  is  not  Matter, 
but  is  the  potential  essence  of  Matter.  She  is  not 
Space,  but  is  the  within  of  Space,  its  fourth  and 
original  dimension,  that  from  which  all  proceed,  the 
containing  element  of  Deity,  and  of  which  Space  is 
the  manifestation.  As  original  Substance,  the  sub- 
stance of  all  other  substance.  She  underUes  that  whereof 
all  things  are  made  ;  and,  like  life  and  mind,  is  inte- 
rior, m3'stical,  spiritual,  and  discernible  only  when 
manifested  in  operation."  The  elucidation  of  the  femi- 
nine principle  is  carried  much  further,  and  the  whole 
passage  will  repay  study,  for  it  throws  new  light  upon 
the  mythologies  and  occult  systems  of  many  ages  and 
peoples,  and  tends  to  exhibit  a  continuity  of  thought 
and  a  unity  of  conception  regarding  fundamentals, 
such  as  few  would  suspect  who  examine  these  ques- 
tions hastily  or  without  due  preparation.  The  follow- 
ing passage  relates  to  the  concrete  question  in  hand 
more  directly:  "As  on  the  plane  physical,  man  is  not 
Man,  —  but  only  Bo}-,  rude,  froward,  and  solicitous 
only  to  exert  and  exhibit  his  strength,  — until  the  time 
comes  for  him  to  recognize,  appreciate,  and  appro- 
priate Her  as  the  woman  ;  so  on  the  plane  spiritual, 
man  is  not  Man,  —  but  only  Materialist,  having  all 
the  deficiencies,  intellectual  and  moral,  the  term  im- 
plies, until  the  time  comes  for  him  to  recognize,  appre- 
ciate, and  appropriate  Her  as  the  Soul,  and  counting 
Her  as  his  better  half,  to  renounce  his  own  exclusively 
centrifugal  impulsions,  and  yield  to  her  centripetal  at- 
tractions.    Doing  this  with  all  his  heart,  he  finds  that 


xxxvi  Introduction. 

she  makes  him  in  the  highest  sense,  Man.  For,  adding 
to  his  intellect  Her  intuition,  she  endows  him  with  that 
true  manhood,  the  manhood  of  Mind.  Thus,  by  Her 
aid  obtaining  cognition  of  substance,  and  from  the 
phenomenal  fact  ascending  to  the  essential  idea,  he 
weds  understanding  to  knowledge,  and  attains  to  cer- 
titude of  truth,  completing  thereby  the  sj^stem  of  his 
thought." 

In  rejecting,  as  the  present  age  has  virtualh'  done,  the 
soul  and  her  intuition,  "  man  excludes  from  the  system 
of  his  humanity  the  ver}'  idea  of  woman,  and  renounces 
his  proper  manhood."  This  it  is  which  determines  the 
wholl}^  materialistic  bent  of  modern  physical  science, 
and  the  coarse,  callous,  and  corrupt  tendencies  which, 
as  the  centur3'  declines  to  its  close,  appear  to  charac- 
terize the  prevailing  civilization  more  strongl}*,  and  to 
emphasize  with  greater  distinctness  even  the  faintest 
reactionary  movements  and  impulses.  Balzac,  in  draw- 
ing Seraphita,  was  wholly  true  to  the  best  received 
occult  doctrine  in  endowing  her  with  duality  of  sexual 
attributes,  and  the  subtletj^  of  his  delineatioh  is  espe- 
cially exhibited  in  the  dominance  of  her  womanly  side. 
For  though  Minna  is  apparently  misled  by  the  mas- 
culine vigor  and  the  self-contained  resolution  of  her 
companion,  the  reader  is  permitted  to  see  clearl}^  enough 
that  the  impression  which  Seraphita  produces  upon 
Wilfrid  is  not  only  b}'  far  the  stronger  but  b}'  far  the 
most  natural ;  and  this  impression  is  that  which  the 
highest  t^'pe  of  womanliood  can  alone  create.  But  there 
is  another  s3'mbol  in  this  phase  of  Seraphita's  nature. 


Introduction.  xxxvii 

For  it  is  held  that  in  truth  and  fact  the  duahsm  exas:- 
gerated  for  the  sake  of  effect  in  her  case  is  inherent  in 
all  human  beings  ;  that,  to  quote  the  same  work  once 
more,  '•  whatever  the  sex  of  the  person,  ph^sicalh', 
each  individual  is  a  dualism,  consisting  of  exterior  and 
interior,  manifested  personalit}'  and  essential  individu- 
ality, body  and  soul,  which  are  to  each  other  masculine 
and  feminine,  man  and  woman ;  he  the  without,  she  the 
within.  And  all  that  the  woman,  on  the  planes  physi- 
cal and  social  is  to  the  man,  that  she  is  also  on  the 
planes  intellectual  and  spiritual.  For,  as  Soul  and 
Intuition  of  Spirit,  she  withdraws  him,  phj'sicall}'  and 
mentally,  from  dissipation  and  perdition  in  the  outer 
and  material ;  and  by  centralizing  and  substantializing 
hrm  redeems  and  crowns  him, — from  a  phantom  con- 
verting him  into  an  entit}*,  from  a  mortal  into  an  im- 
mortal, from  a  man  into  a  god."  For,  without  Love,\\\ 
Force  can  work  only  evil.  It  is  the  union  of  these  two 
from  which  springs  true  progress,  —  the  progress  which 
overlooks  the  material  and  plants  discovering  feet  in 
the  permanent  region  of  the  spiritual.  Woman  is  the 
symbol  and  the  vehicle  of  the  Divine  Life.  She  is  the 
one  stable  principle  of  human  evolution,  —  the  principle 
without  which  man's  development  would  be  in  the  line 
of  decomposition  instead  of  toward  a  higher  vitality ; 
his  restless  energies  would  wear  themselves  away  in 
making  the  conditions  of  his  existence  more  and  more 
impossible  of  endurance.  And  this  is  the  doctrine  of  all 
Hermetic  Scriptures,  including  tlie  Book  of  Genesis. 
It  is  to  be  observed  that   Balzac   does   not   follow 


xxxviii  Introduction. 

Swedenborg  closely  here.  He  goes  rather  to  the 
sources  of  esoteric  doctrine  from  which  all  students 
of  occultism,  from  the  earliest  recorded  times,  have 
drawn  their  principles  and  the  guiding  outlines  of  their 
schemes  of  thought.  It  is  also  deserving  of  notice 
that  however  the  personal  element  ma}"  and  does 
alter  and  not  infrequently  disguise  or  pervert  the  de- 
tails of  such  teachings,  there  is  in  the  general  form  and 
character  of  them  a  certain  harmony  and  close  affinitj* 
which  indicate  community  of  origin ;  and  as  in  the 
genesis  of  language  philologists  argue  from  root  like- 
nesses affiliation  of  several  tongues  which  time  has 
separated  widely,  with  one  mother  tongue  lost  perhaps 
in  the  mists  of  antiquit}',  so  from  these  indications  of 
a  common  focus  of  knowledge  may  be  inferred  the  pre- 
existence  of  such  a  spring  and  source ;  and  not  less 
rationall}'  may  be  assumed  in  it  a  purity  and  approxi- 
mation to  absolute  truth  superior  to  the  representations 
which  have  descended  through  defective  vehicles,  ex- 
posed to  all  the  sophisticating  influence  of  time  and 
ignorance  and  materialism.  Swedenborg  was  an  agent 
in  some  respects  peculiarly  susceptible  to  these  distort- 
ing influences.  It  does  not  appear  that  he  at  any  time 
rose  to  the  height  of  spiritual  perception  attained  in 
the  thoughts  last  quoted.  Yet  he  recognized  somewhat 
of  the  importance  of  the  Womanhead  in  spiritual  ex- 
istence, and  though  he  did  not  escape  from  the  narrow 
and  material  views  of  Woman  common  to  his  age,  he 
brought  from  his  visions  a  reflection  of  the  truth 
too  exalted  to  be  understood  b}'   his  contemporaries. 


Introduction.  xxxix 

"Man,"  he  ssiys  in  one  place,  "is  born  an  under- 
standing, and  woman  a  love."  And  speaking  again  of 
marriage  he  saj-s  :  "The  wife  cannot  enter  into  the 
proper  duties  of  the  man  ;  nor  the  man,  on  the  other  hand, 
into  the  proper  duties  of  the  wife  ;  because  the}'  differ, 
as  wisdom  and  its  love,  or  thought  and  its  affection,  or 
understanding  and  its  will.  In  the  proper  duties  of 
men  the  understanding,  thought,  and  wisdom  act  the 
chief  part ;  but  in  the  proper  duties  of  wives  thejwill, 
affection,  and  love  act  the  chief  part."  He  recognizes 
also  the  necessit}'  of  harmonious  conjunctions  between 
the  two  natures  to  make  the  perfect  man  ;  but  he  does 
not  realize  the  superior  importance,  the  higher  spiritu- 
ality, of  the  woman's  nature.  Here  Balzac's  knowledge, 
intuitive  or  acquired,  surpasses  that  of  the  teacher  whose 
doctrine  he  has  undertaken  to  illustrate,  and  in  his  con- 
ception of  Seraphita  he  rises  to  the  level  of  the  loftiest 
mj'stical  doctrine  to  which  human  faculty  has  ever 
attained. 

Ooethe,  like  Balzac,  penetrated  to  the  heart_of_the 


vjrl 


great  problem  in  the  last  scengjof  thp  {^^pnnfj_|jfljf,  of 
"Faust."  His  Ewig-Weibliche  is  the  divine  element 
which  Woman  both  embodies  and  typifies,  and  to  th« 
purifying  and  stimulating  emanations  from  which  Man 
is  indebted  for  whatever  degree  of  enfranchisement 
from  the  clogging  embraces  of  materialism  he  is  en- 
abled to  accomplish.  This  is  the  force  which  zieht  uns 
hinan,  which  lifts  us  toward  higher  spheres  and  in- 
spired us  with  nobler  aims  ;  which  on  the  physical  plane 
keeps  before  our  dull  and  earth-drawn  eyes   constant 


xl  Introduction. 

examples  of  self-sacrifice,  altruism,  patience,  compas- 
sion, and  love  stronger  than  death ;  which  is  most 
effective  in  subduing  and  extirpating  the  sordid  animal 
tendencies  and  inclinations  from  our  nature,  and  in 
substituting  impulses  and  aspirations  which  may  give 
us  foothold  in  the  path  that  leads  toward  a  life  better 
worth  living.  In  the  figure  of  Seraphita  we  contem- 
plate the  final  efflorescence  of  such  endeavor,  the  cul- 
minating product  of  a  long  chain  of  incarnations,  during 
which  the  dominant  impulse  has  been  uniformly  spirit- 
ual, and  through  which  the  carnal  elements  have  been 
gradually  subdued  until  at  length  they  suffice  only  to 
give  the  mortal  form  coherenc}',  and  to  supply  the 
physical  means  of  that  inevitable  agony  of  temptation 
which  is  the  price  of  translation  to  the  Divine,  exacted 
equall}'  from  all  who  bear  the  conditions  of  earthl}'  life, 
under  whatever  name  they  ma}'  be  known.  For  when 
the  day  of  Deliverance  is  about  to  dawn,  the  hosts  of 
Mara  assemble,  or  Satan  calls  his  legions  together, 
and  the  supreme  test  of  the  aspirant  is  undergone. 
Not  for  naught  did  the  devisers  of  the  mj'steries  of 
Eleusis  subject  the  neophite  to  a  series  of  ordeals 
requiring  mental  and  physical  resolution  and  intre- 
pidity. These  ordeals  symbolized  the  difficulties  and 
pains  which  must  be  endured  by  all  who  seek  to  pass 
directly  from  the  natural  to  the  celestial. 

When  —  to  employ  for  a  moment  the  terminology  of 
Schopenhauer  —  the  mortal  resolves  upon  exercising 
"tne  denial  of  the  will  to  live,"  all  the  forces  of  life 
marshal  themselves  in  battle  array  against  him.     The 


Introduction.  xli 

Temptation,  which  figures  in  so  man}-  religious,  is  the 
exoteric   S3-mbol  of  this  inevitable  conflict.      Nature, 
■which    knows   only  the   conditioned,   revolts   in    ever}- 
fibre  against  the   unconditioned.     The  Mephistopheles 
of  the    material  world,   she    cannot   sufl!er  an}'  of  her 
children  to  escape  her,  and  when  she  perceives  that  they 
are  bent  upon  renunciation  she  summons  her  Lemures 
to  guard  all  the  outlets  and  prevent  the  flight  of  the  soul 
to  higher  spheres.     Nor  is  purification,  innocence,  in- 
herited elevation  of  spirit,  preparedness  for  the  taking 
on  of  more  lofty  conditions,  an}^  defence  against  these 
attacks.     On  the  contrary,  the  greater  the  refinement 
the  greater  the  sensibility.     So  the  red  Indian,  bound 
to    the    stake,    endures   with    stolidity   torture    which 
would  destroy  life  in  the  highly  strung  nervous  system 
of  a  civilized  man.     When  Sir  Robert  Peel  received  the 
injuries  from  which  he  died,  so  acute  was  his  sensitive- 
ness that  he  could  not  tolerate  the  gentlest  surgical 
examination,  even  the  pressure  of  the  bandages  occa- 
sioning him  so  much  pain  that  it  was  found  necessary 
to  remove  them.     It  is  true  that  great  mental  excite- 
ment may  so  completely  dominate  pain  as  to  render 
those   injured   insensible   to   it.     Thus   in  battle   men 
desperately   wounded   will   go   on   fighting    sometimes 
until  loss  of  blood  causes  them  to  faint.     So  also  strong 
spiritual  excitement  ma}'  operate  as  an  anaesthetic,  as  is 
shown  in  the  case  of  martyrs  who,  while  their  bodies 
were  burning,  are  reported  to  have  spoken  with  all  the 
indications  of  religious  rapture  or  ecstas}-.     It  is  known 
that  in  the  h3'pnotic  state  complete  physical   insensi- 


xlii  Introduction. 

bility  may  be  induced,  so  that  needles  or  knives  can  be 
plunged  deep  into  the  tissues  without  causing  the  least 
sensation.  Similar  phenomena  have  been  observed  in 
many  phases  of  the  m^^sterious  and  Protean  condi- 
tions called  hysterical.  Thus  the  Convulsionnaires  of 
St.  Medard  actually  found  satisfaction  in  being  beaten 
with  the  utmost  violence  b}'  strong  men,  and  suffered 
themselves  to  be  struck  with  heavy  iron  bars,  expe- 
riencing no  pain  or  injury  from  assaults  which  were 
quite  severe  enough  to  have  killed  persons  in  the  normal 
state. 

But  none  of  these  instances  affect  the  fact  that  as 
a  rule  sensibility  increases  with  the  gradual  predomi- 
nance of  the  nervous  s^'stem,  which  is  one  of  the  most 
marked  concomitants  of  civilization.  There  is  indeed 
one  consideration  which  at  first  sight  may  appear  not 
to  be  in  accord  with  this  theory*.  It  has  long  been 
observed  that  women  commonl}'  bear  pain  better  than 
men ;  and  it  is  perhaps  generallj'  supposed  that  the 
sensibility  of  women  is  greater  than  that  of  men.  Of 
course  no  conclusion  of  an^^  value  on  such  a  point  can 
be  established  in  the  absence  of  trustworthy  data,  and 
statistics  here  are  unattainable.  While,  however,  it 
may  be  admitted,  as  a  deduction  from  general  ex- 
perience, that  women  are  usually-  more  patient  under 
I^ain  than  men  are,  it  is  by  no  means  so  certain  that 
their  sensibilitj-  is  greater  than  men's,  nor  should  it  be 
too  hastily'  assumed  that  it  is  even  equal  to  the  latter. 
Reasoning  from  analogy  it  might  be  supposed  that  the 
capacity  of  women  to  bear  pain  would  be  greater  than 


Introduction.  xliii 

that  of  men,  because  the  performance  of  their  natural 
functions  requires  them  to  bear  more  pain,  and  Nature 
alwaj'S  makes  provision  for  special  requirements  of  the 
kind.  Endurance  ma}'  be  confounded  with  insensi- 
tiveness,  moreover,  and  this  renders  it  more  difficult  to 
arrive  at  the  actual  state  of  the  case.  "Woman  has  been 
disciplined  hy  centuries  of  servitude  and  oppression  to 
a  patience  which  man  has  not,  save  in  certain  subject 
races,  learned  to  exhibit.  The  American  Indian,  trained 
from  infanc}'  to  conceal  his  feelings,  and  especialh'  to 
repress  all  signs  of  suffering,  could  face  torture  with 
firmness.  The  modern  citj'-bred  man  undoubtedly 
dreads  the  dentist's  chair  more,  and  perhaps  actually 
suffers  more  in  it,  than  did  the  savage  in  the  hands 
of  his  enemies.  Women,  however,  without  any  prep- 
aration but  that  of  heredity,  endure  prolonged  and 
poignant  suffering,  and  often,  if  not  always,  with  a 
composure  which  men  at  least  are  prone  to  impute  to 
inferior  sensitiveness.  This  inferiorit}',  if  indeed  it 
exists,  is  merely  physical,  for  there  can  be  no  doubt 
as  to  the  superior  spiritual  sensibility  of  women  ;  and 
there  is  room  for  considerable  hesitation  regarding  the 
other  branch  of  the  subject. 

In  regard,  however,  to  the  capacity  for  bearing  the 
psychical  agon}-  inseparable  from  such  struggles  as 
have  to  be  borne  by  all  who  attain  to  the  great  Deliver- 
•ance,  the  higher  resolution  must  be  accorded  to  the 
woman,  and  this  Balzac  recognized  in  drawing  the 
character  of  Seraphita.  "We  see  her,  as  the  final  change 
approaches,  plunged  in  the  horrors  of  a  supreme  con- 


xliv  Introduction. 

flict  with  all  the  earthly  desires  and  longings  and  ambi- 
tions. This  pure  and  nearly  perfect  creature  is  indeed 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  gross  animal  passions  and 
coarse  lusts  which  sway  and  control  the  merely  natural 
man.  She  has  been  relieved  by  her  resolute  and  austere 
progenitors  from  those  burdens.  But  still  she  is  not 
exempt  from  the  common  destiny.  "When  Gotama  took 
his  station  under  the  Bodhi  tree  — 

"  He  who  is  the  Prince 
Of  Darkness,  Mara  —  knowing  this  was  Buddh 
Who  should  deliver  man,  and  now  the  hour 
When  he  should  find  the  Truth  and  save  the  worlds  — 
Gave  unto  all  his  evil  powers  command. 
Wherefore  there  trooped  from  every  deepest  pit 
The  fiends  who  war  with  Wisdom  and  the  Light, 
Arati,  Trishna,  Raga,  and  their  crew 
Of  passions,  horrors,  ignorances,  lusts, 
The  brood  of  gloom  and  dread  ;  all  hating  Buddh» 
Seeking  to  shake  his  mind :  nor  knoweth  one, 
Not  even  the  wisest,  how  those  fiends  of  Hell 
Battled  that  night  to  keep  the  truth  from  Buddh.  "^ 

Even  so  the  pure  Seraphita  was  assailed ;  and  if  not 
perhaps  with  all  the  sensual  temptations  which  Mara 
deployed  under  the  eyes  of  the  indomitable  Tathagata, 
with  enticements  not  less  powerful,  and  seductions  not 
less  insidious.  For  such  is  the  constitution  of  human 
nature  that  it  is  unable  to  pass  even  to  a  state  the  in- 
finite superiority  of  which  it  is  fully  assured  of,  without 
experiencing  reluctance  and  sadness. 


Introduction^  xlv 

"  For  who  to  dumb  Forgetfulness  a  prey, 
This  pleasing  anxious  being  e'er  resigned, 
Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  ling'ring  look  behind?  " 

or,  as  the  poet  of"  The  Light  of  Asia"  puts  a  like  thought : 

*'  Sorrow  is 
Shadow  to  life,  moving  when  life  doth  move; 
Not  to  be  laid  aside  until  one  lays 
Living  aside,  with  all  its  changing  states, 
Birth,  growth,  decay,  love,  hatred,  pleasure,  pain, 
Being,  and  doing.     How  that  none  strips  off 
These  sad  delights  and  pleasant  griefs  who  lacks 
Knowledge  to  know  them  snares." 

Even  the  possession  of  that  knowledge  cannot  avail  to 
release  the  mortal  from  the  pain  of  conflict.      He  may 
triumph  over  Mara  in  the  end ;  he  may  realize  the  illu- 
siveness  of  material  existence ;  he  may  attain  to  Nir- 
vana the  blessed,  the  peaceful ;   but  he  must  wan  his 
I  way  through  the  hosts  of  the  tempter  and  prove  his 
right  to  the  crown  b}'  bearing  the  cross. 
■■    In  this  great  ordeal  Seraphita  finds  no  help  in  her  sin- 
k>ssness,  because  her  spiritual  development  has  brought 
w.ith  it  not  only  increase  of  sensitiveness,  but  an  expan- 
sicm  of  the  perceptive  faculties  which  enables  her  to 
coi  nprehend  to  the  fullest  extent  the  attractions  and 
delights  of  the  material  opportunities  and  enjo3'ments 
she   is  required  to  renounce.      The  sacrifice  demanded 
of  h  ler  moreover  embraces  the  slaying  of  Self.     It  is  not 
onl.^'  earthly  desh-es  that  she  must  surrender,  but  all 


xlvi  Introduction. 

desires  ;  for  the  yearning  for  the  Divine,  pure  as  it  may 
seem,  is  capable  of  perversion  into  a  disguised  form  of 
selfishness.      She  cannot  cease  to  aspire,   for  all  her 
nature  is  attuned  heavenward ;  but  she  must  be  pre- 
pared for  any  event,  even  for  the  disappointment  of  her 
dearest  hopes-    And  that  she  is  so  prepared  is  shown  in 
her  reply  to  the  inquiry  of  one  of  her  companions  as  to 
whether,  in  dying,   she  expects  to  enter   the   Divine 
sphere  at  once.      "  I  do  not  know,"  she  replies.      "It 
may  be  but  one  more  step  in  advance  ; "  that  is  to  say, 
she  may  not  have  reached  the  end  of  incarnation.     But 
she  must  suffer  temptation  none  the  less  for  being  un- 
certain of  the  future.    She  must  demonstrate  her  fitness 
for  translation  independently  of  any  guarantee.      The 
reader  is  not  admitted  to  the  solemn  spectacle  of  the 
agonized  soul's  passion ;  and  this  is  a  fresh  illustration 
of  the  delicacy  and   subtlety  which   characterize   this 
masterpiece.      It  is  Seraphita's  old  servant  David  who 
describes  the  contest  between  the  Celestial  and  Infernal 
powers,  in  exalted  and  mystical  terms  appropriate  to 
the  theme.    The   interest   and   impressiveness   of  the 
situation  are  deepened  by  the  contrasting  discord  of  thf  3 
sceptical  pastor's  sarcastic  and  incredulous  comments^. 
To  him  mistress  and  servant  are  alike  mad.      The  e;x- 
citement  of  David,  which  finds  vent  in  the  most  ultr^a- 
Swedenborgian  language,  only  amuses  him.     It  is  tr-ue 
that  he  is  unable  to  explain,  even  to  himself,  many'  of 
the  phenomena  which  he  witnesses,  but  he  fitly  rej'  )re- 
sents  the  natural  world  in  getting  rid  of  insoluble  pr^-ob- 
lems  by  the  simple  method  of  denying  their  existen  .ce. 


Introduction.  xlvii 

There  are  crises  in  the  night-long  struggle,  at  which 
David  seems  almost  to  fear  that  Seraphita  will  succumb 
to  her  tempters  ;  but  it  is  clearly-  impossible  that  she 
should  do  so,  having  reached  the  elevation  at  which  she 
is  arrested  in  order  that  she  ma}'  purge  herself  of  the 
last  earthly  ties.  The  whole  episode  is  full  of  beauty 
and  suffsestiveness,  and  it  is  so  skilfully  executed  that 
no  touch  of  bathos  mars  its  deep  spiritual  charm. 

The  scene  which  follows  the  Temptation  of  Seraphita 
is  intended  to  illustrate  at  once  the  clairvoyant  and  the 
intellectual  powers  of  this  marvellous  creature.      It  is 
the  final  manifestation  of  the  masculine  elements  in  her 
nature,  the  demonstration  of  a  superiority  of  knowledge 
and   understanding  not  less  marked  than  that  of  her 
spirituality.      Wilfrid,  who  represents  a  soul  in  a  state 
of  unstable  equilibrium,  poised  so  insecurely   that   a 
compix'-atively  feeble  impulse  may  alter  its   direction 
upward  or  downward,  is  possessed  by  a  strong  but  wholly 
carnal  passion  for  the  beautiful  and  mysterious  maiden, 
and  he  is  the  vehicle  —  on  the  physical  plane  —  of  those 
material  powers  which  are  leagued  in  the  endeavor  to 
■drag  her  back  to  earth.      But  Seraphita's  spirituality  is 
t,oo  strong  for  Wilfrid's  materialism.     She  sees  through 
his  design,  reads  his  character,  and  at  once  determines 
th.at  he  shall  be  saved  from  himself,  and  by  marriage 
wit!h  Minna  —  the  typical  union  between  Understanding 
and    Love  —  be    set  in   the   path   of  aspiration,    and 
assisted  toward  the  attainment  of  divine  enfranchise- 
ment.     At  the  same  time  Seraphita  resolves  to  open 
the  eyes  of  the  sceptical  pastor  as  far  as  may  be  pos- 


xlviii  Introduction. 

sible,  and  to  lift  him  out  of  his  gross  and  paralyzing 
carnalit}'.  To  these  ends  she  addresses  herself  in  the 
remarkable  exposition  and  arguments  which  she  de- 
livers at  a  length  which  would  be  wearisome  but  for 
the  luciditj-,  force  and  closeness  of  the  reasoning,  and 
the  profound  interest  which  attaches  to  the  problems 
brought  under  discussion. 

This  speech  is  also  to  be  regarded  as  a  vindication  of 
Intuition,  for  Seraphita  is  represented  as  having  been 
reared  entirely  without  education  after  the  usual  meth- 
ods, and  the  pastor  Becker  naturally  insists  that  she 
must  be  phenomenally  ignorant,  and  quite  incapable  of 
showing  a  reason  for  her  faith,  however  fanatical  tliat 
faith  may  be.  His  object,  therefore,  is  to  test  and  ex- 
pose her  want  of  information,  and  so  to  convince  Wil- 
frid, whose  infatuation  for  her  vexes  him,  that  she  is 
merely  a  self-deluded  visionary,  who  probably  inherits  a 
strong  tendency  toward  mysticism  from  her  Swedenbor- 
gian  parents.  Seraphita  at  once  perceives  the  mixed 
purposes  of  her  visitors,  and  loses  no  time  in  showing 
that  she  understands  the  situation.  Then  she  proceeds 
to  dissect  Becker's  mind,  to  anal3'ze  his  scepticism,  to 
state  his  positions  with  care  and  candor,  to  allow  all 
his  objections  and  difficulties  their  full  weight,  and 
finally  to  retort  upon  him  with  a  defence  and  expo'si- 
tion  of  the  spiritual  in  the  universe,  which  leaves  him 
amazed  and  dumb.  In  concluding  the  review  of  M. 
Becker's  doubts  and  the  reasonings  upon  which  they 
rest,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  the  feminine  element  in  Sera- 
phita again  comes  to  the  front.      The  understanding 


Introduction.  xlix 

does   not   suffice   for  the   elucidation   of  the   spiritual 
truths  which  are  next  to  be  dealt  with.     The  Woman- 
Soul   is  at  this   point  called  upon  to   expound   those 
highest  mysteries  which  are  involved  in  the  apprehen- 
sion of  the  great  scheme  of  things.     The  ke3'-note  of 
this   second  and  more  elevated  branch  of  Seraphita's 
discourse  is  struck  in  the  opening  words.     '*  Belief  is 
a_gi£t.     To  believe  is  to  feel.     To  believe  in  God  it  is 
nece^ssarj'  to  feel  God.       Is^this  the  language  of  Mys- 
ticism?     Seraphita  has  in  her  opening  remarks  dwelt 
upon  the  fact  —  patent  bcN'ond  serious  controversy  — 
that  Man  unites,  or  is  the  point  of  junction  for,  two 
worlds,    the   Finite    and   the    Infinite.     But  if  this  be 
so  how  is   it  possible   to   explain    all  his   relations  in 
terms  of  the  Finite  ;    how  can  it  be    possible  to  com- 
prehend  all   his   relations   without   taking   account  of 
those  which  link  him  with  the  Infinite?     Nevertheless, 
neither  explanation  nor  comprehension  is  to  be  attained 
8  o  long  as  the  methods  and  the  terminology  of  the  in- 
ferior,  the  conditioned  state,  are  alone  emploj'ed  in  the 
investigation.      The  situation  is  precisely  that   of  the 
men  of  science  who  involve  themselves  and  others  in 
hopeless   confusion   by  discussing   Spirit   in   terras  of 
Matt.er.     Neither  can  Matter  be  discussed  in  terms  of 
Spirit.     To  each  world  its  own  terminology,  its  own 
methods  and  instruments  of  research.     The  Finite  in 
Man  oan  never  apprehend  Infinity  ;    but  the  Infinite  in 
Man  i/nay  approach  realization  of  that  to  which  it  is  by 
unity  f  )f  nature  allied. 

Belief,  then,  or  Faith,  is  the  key  which  alone  opens 


1  Introduction. 

the  doorjofjii£_[nfinite,  and  it  does  so  by  lifting  the 
soul  above  the  material  plane,  ancl  endowing  it  with 
percet^ive  powers  w][iicli~carnmt'  beat^quTred  througl 
any  material  educational  methods.  The  Understanding 
caB^be  cultivated  to  such  an  extent  that  it  may  explain 
and  realize  the  meaning  of  the  purely  phenomenal ;  but 
there  the  limit  of  its  capacit}-  is  reached.  It  is  the  agent 
of  material  apprehension,  perfectly  fitted  to  that  end, 
and  supreme  judge  in  its  own  court.  But  its  jurisdic- 
tion ceases  where  the  domain  of  Faith  begins,  and  the 
latter  must  be  the  guide  and  interpreter  throughout  the 
spiritual  regions.  The  Understanding  refuses  to  believe 
what  it  cannot  grasp,  and  the  position  is  perfectly-  nat- 
ural and  perfectly  just.  But  the  Understanding  is,  after 
all,  only  one  element  in  the  constitution  of  Man,  and  it 
is  the  lower  power  of  the  two  which  are  given  him  for 
guidance.  According  to  the  philosoph}'  of  Louis  Lam- 
bert (of  which  "  Seraphita  "  is  the  final  fruition)  the  civil- 
ization of  the  world  is  supported  and  carried  forwani 
in  the  main,  and  altogether  so  far  as  its  material  as- 
pects are  concerned,  b}^  what  he  terms  the  Abstrjiie- 
tive,  —  that  is,  by  those  who  confine  thei^  selves  to  the 
development  of  their  intellectual  faculties,  and  virtu^ally 
ignore  their  spiritual  side.  There  is  no  height  or  splen- 
dor or  glory  of  material  civilization  which  cannctt  be 
thus  attained;  but  a  purely  material  civilization,  how- 
ever brilliant  and  outwardly  prosperous  and  flouriishing 
it  may  appear,  must  contain  the  seeds  of  its  own  decay 
and  overthrow,  as  all  history  teaches  by  the  most  preg- 
nant  and   impressive   examples.      Unassisted   Reason 


Introduction.  li 

shows  the  existence  of  many  m3'steries  bej'ond  the 
power  of  Reason  to  solve  ;  yet  Reason  persists  in  re- 
jecting the  agencies  whereb}'  if  at  all  these  mysteries 
may  be  explained,  —  and  in  so  acting  renounces  the 
hope  of  ever  penetrating  be^'ond  secondary  causes  and 
phenomenal  appearances.  This,  according  to  Seraphita, 
is  the  explanation  of  what  is  now  called  Agnosticism. 

It  may  be  of  interest  to  see  what  Swedenborg  teaches 
in  this  connection.  Faith,  according  to  the  Swedish 
sage  is  "an  internal  acknowledgment  of  truth."  Faith 
and  truth,  he  declares,  are  one,  and  the  angels  know 
nothing  of  faith,  but  what  men  call  faith  they  call  truth. 
But  he  affirms  that  "  by  things  known  to  explore  the 
mysteries  of  faith  is  as  impossible  as  for  a  camel  to 
pass  through  the  eye  of  a  needle,  or  for  a  rib  to  govern 
the  purest  fibrils  of  the  chest  and  heart,  —  so  gross, 
yea,  much  more  gross,  is  the  sensual  and  knowing 
relatively  to  the  spiritual  and  celestial."  And  concern- 
ing the  belief  in  and  acceptance  of  things  not  compre- 
hended by  the  intellect,  he  says :  "  Every  one  ma}'  see 
c*^^hat  a  man  is  governed  by  the  principles  he  adopts, 
bie  they  ever  so  false,  and  that  all  his  knowledge  and 
re»asoning  favor  his  principles ;  for  innumerable  con- 
siu'erations  tending  to  support  them  readil}-  present 
theiTQselves  to  his  mind,  and  thus  he  is  confirmed  in 
falsities.  He,  therefore,  who  assumes  as  a  principle 
that  nothing  is  to  be  believed  until  it  is  seen  and  under- 
^tooii  can  never  believe ;  for  spiritual  and  celestial 
things  are  neither  seen  with  the  eyes  nor  grasped  by 
th(    " magination."     And  again,  he  sa3's :    "There  are 


lii  Introduction. 

two  principles,  one  of  which  leads  to  all  folly  and  mad- 
ness, the  other  to  all  intelligence  and  wisdom.  The 
former  principle  is  to  deny  all  things,  or  to  sa}'  in  one's 
heart  that  he  cannot  believe  them  nntil  he  is  convinced 
by  what  he  can  comprehend  or  be  sensible  of;  this 
principle  is  what  leads  to  all  folh'  and  madness,  and 
ma}'  be  called  the  negative  principle.  .  .  .  Those  who 
think  from  the  negative  principle,  the  more  they  take 
counsel  of  matters  of  reason,  of  knowledge,  and  of 
philosophy,  the  more  they  plunge  themselves  into  dark- 
ness, until  at  length  they  come  to  deny  all  things. 
The  reason  is  that  from  things  inferior  no  one  compre- 
hends things  superior,  that  is,  things  spiritual  and  celes- 
tial, —  still  less  things  diAdne,  because  they  transcend 
all  understanding ;  and  besides,  everything  is  then 
involved  in  negatives  from  the  beginning." 

The  argument   of  Seraphita  is   to  the  same  effect. 
Finite  Reason,  she  contends,  cannot  comprehend  Infin- 
ite purposes  and  orderings.     The  measuring  instrument 
which  man  seeks  to  apply  to  the  divine  is  inadequate. 
He  might  be  more  modest  if  he  could  be  made  to  see^ 
how  frequently  he  fails  to  comprehend,  not  -^i^lely  th.e 
Infinite,  but  phenomena  which  lie,  so  to  ispeak,  at  h'ls 
own  door,  and  upon  his  own  plane  of  existence.    Agaim, 
this  sceptical  being  ventures  to  deny  God  because-  of 
His  intangibility  and   invisibility,  while    at  the   sfime 
time  he  gives  name  and  form  to  abstractions,  —  as  for 
instance.  Number.     It  is  true  that  Number  is  a  reallity, 
but  the  average  man  does  not  comprehend  its  sig-^nifi- 
cance,  and  the  Number  which  he  figures  to  himself,  and 


Introduction.  liii 

wherewith  he  amuses  himself,  is  \Qxy  ditfereut  from  the 
real  Number.  The  same  considerations  applj-  to  the 
abstractive  Time  and  Space,  neither  of  which  is  more 
than  a  name,  representing  no  noumenon,  answering  to 
no  actual  entity,  being  in  fact  no  more  than  an  inven- 
tion for  the  convenience  of  measuring  those  human 
relations  which  cannot  be  more  trul}-  and  exacth'  esti- 
mated, because  —  and  onl}'  because  —  the  human  mind 
is  so  inadequate  to  the  work  which  it  desires  and 
attempts  to  perform.  The  human  mind  as  confined 
and  restricted  b}-  scepticism,  that  is ;  for  when  opened 
b}'  spiritual  illumination  it  is  capable  of  rising  to  great 
altitudes,  and  of  apprehending  many  things  in  their 
true  and  ultimate  significance. 

The  staple  objection  to  the  form  of  argument  em- 
ployed here  b}'  Seraphita  is  the  futility  of  all  modes  of 
inquiry  which  transcend  the  Reason  ;  it  being  assumed 
tliat  the  human  mind  is  incapable  of  receiving  demon- 
stration of  truth  otherwise  than  through  the  operation 
of  the  reasoning  faculty,  which  proceeds  entireh'  upon 
experience,  and,  where  experience  ends,  ceases  to  have 
anv  point  d'^appui.  A  very  fair  example  of  this  line 
of  argument  is  to  be  found  in  Lotze's  "  Microcosmos." 
*'  If,"  that  author  observes,  "  reason  is  not  of  itself 
capable  of  finding  the  highest  truth,  but  on  the  contrary 
sttinds  in  need  of  a  revelation  which  is  either  contained 
in  some  divine  act  of  historic  occurrence,  or  is  con- 
tinually repeated  in  men's  hearts,  still  reason  must  be 
able  to  understand  the  revealed  truth  at  least  so  far  as 
to  recognize  in  it  the  satisfying  and  convincing  conclu- 


liv  Introduction. 

sion  of  those  upward-soaring  trains  of  thought  which 
reason  itself  began,  led  by  its  own  needs,  but  was  not 
able  to  bring  to  an  end.  For  all  religious  truth  is  a 
moral  good,  not  a  mere  object  of  curiosity.  It  may 
therefore  include  some  mysteries  inaccessible  to  reason, 
but  will  only  do  so  in  as  far  as  these  are  indispensable 
in  order  to  combine  satisfactorily  other  and  obvious 
points  of  great  importance  ;  the  secrecy  of  sxij  m3-sterv 
is  in  itself  no  reason  for  venerating  it ;  a  secrecy  that 
was  permanent  and  in  its  nature  eternal  would  only  be 
a  reason  for  indifference  towards  anything  which  should 
thus  refuse  to  be  brought  into  connection  with  mental 
needs  ;  and  finall}-,  above  all  things,  to  revel  in  secrets 
which  are  destined  to  remain  secrets  is  necessarily  not 
in  accord  with  the  notion  of  a  revelation."  The 
philosopher  then  proceeds  to  put  these  questions  :  "  But 
must  that  which  is  a  secret  for  cognition  be  alwa3's  realh^ 
a  secret?  Does  not  the  nature  of  faith  consist  in  this, 
that  it  affords  a  certainty  of  that  which  no  cognition  can 
grasp,  as  well  of  lohat  it  is,  as  that  it  is?  And  does 
not  all  science  itself,  when  it  has  finished  its  inves- 
tigations of  particulars,  come  back  to  grasp,  in  a  faith 
of  which  the  certainty  is  indemonstrable  and  yet  irref- 
ragable, those  highest  truths  on  which  the  evidence 
of  other  knowledge  depends?  There  is  certainly  a 
germ  of  truth  in  this  rejoinder ;  but  not  the  less 
clear  is  the  essential  difference  that  separates  such 
scientific  faith  from  religious  faith."  It  is  unnecessary 
to  follow  Lotze's  argument  further.  Enough  has  been 
quoted  to  illustrate  the  common  error  of  what  Louis 


Introduction.  Iv 

Lambert  would  have  called  the  abstractive  method  of 
ratiocination. 

Scraphita  tells  Pastor  Becker  that  he  and  she  speak 
different  languages  in  discussing  these  high  questions, 
and  the  same  may  be  said  of  all  who  take  opposite  sides 
on  the  question  of  psj-chologic  capacities  and  poten- 
tialities. The  position  of  Seraphita,  who  is  a  Specialist, 
should,  however,  be  made  clear.  All  knowledge  is  rela- 
tive. There  are  mysteries  which  no  created  being  can 
ever  comprehend.  As  Seraphita  puts  it,  "  To  under- 
stand God  would  be  to  be  God."  Thus  also  the  Asiatic 
occultists,  who  profess  to  derive  their  knowledge  of  the 
origin  and  destiny  of  the  universe  from  higher  intelli- 
gences, corresponding  in  many  respects  to  the  angels 
of  the  Chi-istian  Church,  affirm  that  neither  their  ex- 
alted cori-espondents  and  revelators  nor  the  still  higher 
beings  with  whom  the  latter  are  in  relations,  possess 
any  knowledge  of  the  Supreme  Being.  Science  pre- 
tends no  farther  than  to  the  origination  of  the  universe 
by  Motion  ;  the  genesis  of  that  Motion  lies  beyond  its 
utmost  reach  of  apprehension.  But  the  contention  of 
lialzac  is  that  a  much  higher  knowledge  than  is  attain- 
able by  the  Reason  is  within  the  grasp  of  a  duly  trained 
and  disciplined  Humanit}',  developed  in  one  direction 
through  many  incarnations,  as  Seraphita  is  supposed 
to  iiave  been,  and  so  purified  from  the  materialism 
which  in  the  race  at  large  obstructs  perception  that  to 
her  strengthened  and  clarified  vision  mysteries  cease  to 
be  obscure,  and  the  sphere  of  cognition  is  indefinitely^ 
enlarged.     Of  course  it  is  apparent  that  such  a  being 


Ivi  Introduction. 

cannot  argue  on  anything  like  equal  terms  with  such  a 
gross  sceptic  as  Pastor  Becker.      In  her,  intellection 
has  already  come  to  operate   angelically  rather   than 
humanly,  and  what  to  her  opponent  appears  paradox 
and  incomprehensibility  is   to   her  demonstrated    and 
familiar  truth.      Nowhere   is   the  tension  of  Balzac's 
thought  and  the  resolute  maintenance  of  his  imagina- 
tion upon  this  elevated  plane  of  imaginative  creation 
more  strikingly  exhibited  than  in  this  long  and  subtle 
discourse  of  Seraphita.      An  inferior  artist  could  not 
have  borne  so  severe  a  test,  but  would  have  lapsed  into 
commonplace  before  the  end  was  reached.     Seraphita, 
however,  supports  her  high  arguments  with  perfectly 
natural   ease   throughout.      The    philosophy   of  Louis 
Lambert  will  be  recognized  repeatedly  in  it.     This  is 
in  accordance  with  the  author's  general  scheme.     Sera- 
phita herself  is  the  culmination  of  the  noble  body  of 
thought  outlined  in  "  Louis  Lambert."     In  her  we  see 
the  consummation  of  the  long  process  of  transformation 
and  evolution  through  and  by  which  the  mortal  puts 
on  immortality,  the  merely  Human  blossoms  into  the. 
celestial. 

It  is  also  to  be  obsers^ed  that  though  Balzac  has 
modernized  the  conception  of  this  marvellous  and  beau- 
tiful process,  he  is  in  no  way  to  be  regarded  as  the 
inventor  of  that  conception.  As  to  its  origin  we  shall 
perhaps  seek  it  in  vain,  for  the  deeper  we  explore  the 
occult  and  religious  literature  of  antiquity  the  more 
evidence  we  find  of  the  archaism  of  the  central  belief. 
The  doctrine  of  metempsychosis  is  correlated  with  that 


Introduction.  Ivii 

of  iierfeetibilit}',  vfliile  the  means  bj  which  the  latter 
end  ma^'  be  attained  have  been  so  constantly  and 
minutely  discussed,  tested,  and  analyzed  by  Eastern 
philosophers  and  psychologists  as  to  furnish  forth  a 
complete  code,  the  very  terminolog}-  of  which  has  be- 
wildered and  baffled  Western  philologists,  men  of 
science,  and  above  all,  theologians.  Nevertheless,  a 
belief  in  the  possibility  of  realizing  in  the  flesh  a 
much  higher  knowledge  and  perception  than  materialist 
methods  of  education  are  capable  of  attaining  to,  has 
in  various  ways  descended  and  persisted  through  all 
ages  to  the  present  time  ;  and  in  support  of  this  belief 
there  has  been  preserved  and  recorded  a  certain  amount 
of  what,  in  almost  any  other  case,  would  generally  be 
accepted  as  substantive  evidence,  but  in  this  case  is 
accepted  or  rejected  with  little  regard  to  its  true  evi- 
dential value,  and  for  the  most  part  according  as  the 
individual  to  whom  it  is  submitted  is  dominated  by 
Spiritual  or  Materialist  prepossessions.  It  is  true  that 
.in  the  West  the  credibility  of  all  such  phenomena  has 
tteen  weakened  by  the  fading  out  of  the  doctrine  of 
reincarnation  ;  for  apart  from  that  doctrine  every  ap- 
pr:oximation  to  the  higher  life  recorded  must  savor  so 
muich  of  miracle  as  to  repel  philosophic  minds  and 
cause  consideration  of  the  alleged  facts  to  be  refused 
or  abandoned.  In  Oriental  countries,  where  metem- 
psyc\iosis  has  never  ceased  to  be  accepted,  it  obviously 
supplies  plausible  explanations  for  man}*  appearances 
whie, '  under  other  conditions  would  stronglv  suefgest 
the  sup-  rnatural.    Among  Asiatics,  reincarnation  is  con- 


Iviii  Introduction. 

sidered  the  normal,  nay,  the  inevitable,  career,  and  in 
connection  with  the  Law  of  Karma  it  affords  a  faith 
which  is  held  by  a  large  proportion  of  the  earth's  in- 
habitants.    Thus  it  is  clear  that  the  idea  of  Seraphita 
would  be  at  once  understood  b}'  a  Hindu,  who  would 
see  nothing  fanciful  or  extravagant  in  the  personifica- 
tion, which  he  would  probably  classify  in  his  own  mind 
as  that  of  a  female  Rishi.     Swedenborg,  whether  con- 
sciously or  unconsciousl}',  derived  many  of  his  beliefs 
as  to  other  states  of  existence,  it  is  not  necessary  to 
sa}'  from  the  Eastern  sages,  but  at  all  events  fx'om  the 
same  sources  which  were    open  to  those  sages.      He 
altered  some  of  these  Oriental  ideas  strangely,  beyond 
a  question,  and  clothed  them  with  material  garments 
such  as  would  have  bewildered  the  Indian  philosophers, 
whose  theories  were  of  the  soul,   without  the  alloy  of 
earth  which  modern  civilization  has,   natural!}'  perhaps, 
given  to  them.     In  some  respects   Seraphita   is  more 
Oriental  than  Swedenborgian ;  but  in  truth  Balzac  has 
put  many  occult  principles  together  in  fashioning   lhi« 
unique  creature,  and  in  the  end  he  has.  perhaps   wisely-, 
borrowed  freely  the  imagery  and  the  color  as  well  as  the 
general  conceptions  which  characterize  what  are  call'ed 
the  ecstatic  visions  of  the  Christian  saints,  especially 
the  mystics  of  comparative!}-  modern  times. 

The  occult  doctrine  of  Number  is  touched  upoiti  in 
Seraphita's  discourse.  As  the  subject  has  already  been 
considered  at  some  length  in  the  Introduction  to  "  I^ouis 
Lambert,"  and  as  Balzac  makes  his  meaning  compara- 
tively clear,  perhaps  it  is  not  necessary  to  reopen  that 


Introduction.  lix 

question  ;  to  a  full  understanding  of  which,  moreover, 
some  knowledge  of  the  Kabbala  is  requisite.  It  may, 
however,  be  as  well  to  point  out  that  Balzac  does  not  fol- 
low Pythagoras  in  materiaUzing  Number  ;  the  entities  to 
which  he  refers  are  purely  spiritual  and  mystical.  But 
there  is  in  this  remarkable  discourse  of  Seraphita  a  view 
of  the  straight  line  and  the  circle  which  it  is  necessary 
to  examine  carefully,  for  at  first  sight  it  appears  to  be 
in  hopeless  contradiction  with  all  occult  teaching.  Hav- 
ing shown  that  the  circle  and  the  curve  govern  created 
forms,  Seraphita  proceeds  thus:  "Who  shall  decide 
between  rectiUnear  and  curvilinear  geometry?  between 
the  theory  of  the  straight  line  and  that  of  the  curve?  If 
in  His  vast  work,  the  mysterious  Artificer,  who  knows 
how  to  reach  his  ends  miraculously  fast,  never  employs 
a  straight  line  except  to  cut  off  an  angle  and  so  obtain 
a  curv^e,  neither  does  man  himself  always  rely  upon  it. 
The  bullet  which  he  aims  direct  proceeds  by  a  curve, 
and  when  you  wish  to  strike  a  certain  point  in  space, 
you  impel  your  bombshell  along  its  cruel  parabola. 
None  of  your  men  of  science  have  drawn  from  this  fact 
the  simple  deduction  that  the  Curve  is  the  law  of  the 
material  worlds,  and  the  Straight  line  that  of  the  spirit- 
ual worlds  ;  one  is  the  theory  of  finite  creations,  the 
other  the  theory  of  the  infinite.  Man,  who  alone  in 
this  world  has  a  knowledge  of  the  Infinite,  can  alone 
know  the  straight  line  ;  he  alone  has  the  sense  of  verti- 
eality  placed  in  a  special  organ.  A  fondness  for  the 
creations  of  the  curve  would  seem  to  be  in  certain  men 
an  indication  of  the  impurity  of  their  nature  still  coa- 


Ix  Introduction. 

joined  to  the  material  substances  which  engender  us ; 
and  the  love  of  great  souls  for  the  straight  line  seems  to 
show  in  them  an  intuition  of  heaven." 

This  doctrine  is  clearl}^  not  derived  from  Sweden- 
borg,  whose  central  theory  of  Correspondences  is  funda- 
mentally in  conflict  with  it.  According  to  the  Swedish 
seer  ever^-thing  material  is  a  type  and  representation  of 
something  spiritual.  Swedenborg's  philosophical  hy- 
pothesis of  vortices,  moreover,  has  nothing  in  common 
with  this  intimation  of  the  superior  spirituality  of  the 
line.  That  the  circle  is  the  most  perfect  of  all  figures 
is  never  doubted  by  the  author  of  the  vortical  theory. 
Professor  Winchell  has  condensed  this  theory  conven- 
ientlv,  and  from  him  a  few  sentences  ma}'  be  quoted : 
"The  first  cause  is  the  infinite  or  unlimited.  This 
gives  existence  to  the  first  finite  or  limited.  That 
which  produces  a  limit  is  analogous  to  motion.  The 
limit  produced  is  a  point,  the  essence  of  which  is  mo- 
tion ;  but  being  without  parts,  this  essence  is  not  act- 
ual motion  but  only  a  conatus  to  it.  From  this  first 
proceed  extension,  space,  figure,  and  succession,  or  time. 
As  in  geometr}'  a  point  generates  a  line,  a  line  a  sur- 
face, and  a  surface  a  solid,  so  here  the  conatus  of  the 
point  tends  towards  lines,  surfaces,  and  solids.  In 
other  words,  tlie  universe  is  contained  in  ovo  in  the  first 
natural  point.  The  motion  toward  which  the  conatus 
tends  is  circular,  smce  the  circle  is  the  inost  perfect  of 
all  figures,  and  tendency  to  motion  impressed  by  the 
Infinite  must  be  tendency  to  the  most  perfect  figure.'' 
And  again :    "  The  most  perfect  figure  of  the  motion 


Introduction.  Ixi 

above  described  must  be  the  perpetually  circular.   .  .  . 
It  must  necessarily  be  of  a  spiral  figure,  which  is  the 
most  perfect  of  all  figures,"  —  and  much  more  reasoning 
to  the  same  eflfect.    And  in  this  view  of  the  circle  Sweden- 
borg  does  but  follow  the  most  ancient  of  occult  doctrines, 
as  may  readily  be  perceived.    The  most  venerable  cosmo- 
gonic  symbol  is  the  point  in  the  circle,  —  the  point  repre- 
senting the  creating  Logos,  the  Breath  of  the  Absolute 
imparting  Motion  to  Matter ;  the  circle  t3'pifying  the  un- 
limited, the  Infinite,  which  includes  and  controls  all  cre- 
ated things.     Again,  the  Spirit  of  Life  and  Immortality 
have  from   the  earliest  times  been  symbolized  b}'  the 
circle.    The  whole  Kabbala  proceeds  upon  the  theor}' 
of  circles,  which  is  the  formulating  principle  of  the  doc- 
trine of  Emanations.      In  all  hermetic  scriptures  the 
same  teaching  will  be  found.    The  circle  was  the  sym- 
bol of  the  most  spiritual  views.     Thus   Proclus  says : 
"  Before  producing  the  material  worlds  which  move  in 
a  circle,    the   Creative  Power   produced   the    invisible 
Circles."    The  Golden  Egg  of  Brahma  is  another  illus- 
tration of  the  universality  of  this  doctrine.     In  fact,  as 
is  observed  in  "The  Secret  Doctrine,"  "  In  the  secret 
doctrine    the    concealed   unity  —  whether   representing 
Parahrahmam,  or  the  'Great  Extreme'  of  Confucius, 
or  the  Deity  concealed  by  Phta,  the  Eternal  light,  or 
again,  the  Jewish  En-Soph  —  is  always  found  to  be  sym- 
bolized  l)y  a  circle,  or  the   'nought'   (absolute  No  — 
Thing    and    Nothing,   because    it   is  injlnite  and  the 
All)  ;    while  the  God-manifested  (b^-  its  works)  is  re- 
ferred to  as  the  diameter  of  that  circle.     The  symbol- 


Ixiv  Introduction. 

with  Nature's  noblest  mood,   and  might  well   be  the 

creation  of  these  Devas  with  which  the  m3-thology  of 

Hindustan  peoples  the  unseen  universe.      No  poet  can 

fail  to  perceive  and  take  delight  in  the  beauties  of  the 

curve  as  exhibited  in  Nature  ;  and  the  poetical  vision 

has  never  been  more  subtly  or  sweetly  expressed  than 

by  Emerson  :  — 

"  For  Nature  beats  in  perfect  tune, 
And  rounds  with  rhyme  her  every  rune, 
Whether  she  work  in  land  or  sea, 
Or  hide  underground  her  alchemy. 
Thou  canst  not  wave  thy  staff  in  air, 
Or  dip  thy  paddle  in  the  lake, 
But  it  carves  the  bow  of  beauty  there, 
And  the  ripples  in  rhymes  the  oar  forsake." 

So  fond  is  Nature  of  the  curve  that  it  underlies  all  her 
work  and  gives  to  it  the  deepest  charm  and  attraction. 
The  straight  line  she  does  not  greatly  affect,  naj-,  she 
takes  a  mischievous  pleasure,  apparently*,  in  baffling 
man's  efforts  to  establish  it.  Even  her  blindest  forces 
resist  its  manifestations  as  bj'  some  law.  "  Thou  canst 
not  wave  thy  staff  in  air,"  but  it  "  carves  the  bow  of 
beauty  there."  The  resistance  of  the  tenuous  atmos- 
phere thwarts  the  downright,  rectilinear  impulse,  and 
forces  the  staff  into  the  curves  which  symbolize  the 
perfection  of  form. 

But  Seraphita  affirms  that  the  curve  is  really  the 
inferior  S3'mbol ;  that  it  belongs  to  and  expresses  the 
Finite  ;  whereas  the  straight  line  pertains  to  the  Infi- 
nite. How  shall  this  paradox  be  explained?  To  the 
merely  mortal  understanding,  naj-,  to  that  understand- 


Introduction.  Ixv 

ing  when  raised  to  its  highest  power,  the  circle  and  the 
curve  are  and  have  ever  been  the  symbols  of  the  lofti- 
est conceptions,  the  kej-s  to  the  profoundest  systems 
of  thought.  No  doubt  the  line  may  be  regarded  mathe- 
matically as  the  sign  of  infinite  extension,  but  it  surely 
has  little  connection  with  Idealism,  with  Poetry,  with 
Imagination,  or  Beauty,  or  Religion.  With  Duty  it  as- 
suredly has  clear  and  close  affiliations,  however,  and 
that  fact  may  well  give  us  pause ;  for  to  comprehend 
Duty  thoroughly  is  indeed  to  penetrate  into  arcana 
which,  if  such  vision  be  possible  to  the  finite,  extend  to 
the  very  threshold  of  infinity.  There  is  nothing  which 
so  synthesizes  and  embraces  Matter  and  Spirit  as  this 
same  apprehension  of  Duty ;  and  keeping  fast  hold  of 
that  idea  we  may  perhaps  be  able  to  throw  a  little  light 
upon  Seraphita's  meaning  in  the  difficult  passage  under 
consideration.  The  ideal  here  concerned  is  indeed  too 
little  reverenced  in  these  days.  Yet  it  is  as  true  as  ever 
that  "  the  path  of  duty  is  the  way  to  glory,"  and  that 

"  He  that,  ever  following  her  commands, 
On  with  toil  of  heart  and  knees  and  hands, 
\  Thro'  the  long  gorge  to  the  far  light  has  won 
His  path  upward,  and  prevail'd, 
Shall  find  the  toppling  crags  of  Duty  scaled 
Are  close  upon  the  shining  table-lands 
ITo  which  our  God  himself  is  moon  and  sun." 

For  "  Duty,  lov'd  of  Love  "  is  the  highest  test  of  human 
aspiration,  the  surest  measure  of  human  progress,  and 
it  may  well  be  that  the  straiglit  line  whicli  is  associated 
with  and  symbolizes  it  is  in  the  final  analysis  an  intima- 


Ixvi  Introduction. 

tiou  and  a  belonging  of  that  supreme  existence  whose 
remoteness  and  majesty  transcend  conditioned  thought, 
and  on  this  plane  can  onl}-  be  dimly  perceived  as  tlie 
Something  which  metaph^-sical  analysis  feels  compelled 
to  postulate  in  partial  explanation  of  the  Knowable. 

The  Logos,  the  Point  within  the  Circle,  was  not,  as 
often  mistakenly  supposed,  held  bj^  the  students  of  the 
archaic  doctrine  to  be  the  Supreme  or  Absolute.  It 
was  really  but  the  symbol  of  the  Manifested,  —  that  of 
which  the  human  mind  can  in  some  way  take  cogni- 
zance. The  old  theogonies  avoid  the  perplexities  and 
contradictions  so  strongly  presented  by  Seraphita  when 
examining  the  doubts  which  assail  the  sceptical  Pastor, 
bj'  postulating  a  First  Cause  bej'ond  the  actual  Artificer 
of  the  Universe.  So  Porphyrj-  (cited  by  Taylor)  saj's  : 
"  To  that  God  who  is  above  all  things,  neither  external 
speech  ought  to  be  addressed,  nor  3et  that  which  is 
inward."  Thus  Proclus  speaks  of  the  highest  principle 
as  "  more  ineffable  than  all  silence,  and  more  occult 
than  all  essence,"  and  as  being  "  concealed  amidst  the 
intelligible  gods."  This  is  the  Ain-Soph  of  the  Kabbala, 
—  the  name  given  it  there  being  almost  s3-nonymous 
in  meaning  with  the  Unknowable  of  modern  Agnos- 
ticism, though  the  latter  professes  to  find  the  Logos 
equally  inscrutable.  Now  it  is  conceivable  that  while 
the  circle  is,  as  Seraphita  says,  the  s3'mbol  of  the 
Created,  the  line  may  be  that  of  the  Uncreated,  that  is 
to  say,  the  Infinite.  The  fact  that  to  us  who  exist  on 
this  earthly  plane  the  circle  presents  the  most  perfect 
figure  does  not  appear  a  reallj'  serious  obstacle  to  the 


Introduction.  Ixvii 

reception  of  this  view ;  for  the  circle  might  \exy  well 
be  the  most  perfect  figure  as  related  to  Matter  in  all 
its  modifications,  or  even  as  related  to  the  lower  spir- 
itual spheres  into  which  alone  it  ma}'  be  supposed  that 
incarnated  spirit  is  capable  of  penetrating ;  and  ^^et  it 
might  not  be  adapted  to  that  highest  form  of  existence 
which  is  altogether  above  and  bej'ond  human  appre- 
hension. Either  this  is  the  interpretation  to  be  put 
upon  Seraphita's  statement  concerning  the  relations 
and  symbolism  of  the  line  and  the  circle,  or  it  must  be 
concluded  that  Balzac  has  fallen  into  an  error  so  gross 
that  it  is  incredible  it  should  have  been  committed  by 
a  student  of  occultism  in  every  other  particular  so 
firml}'  grounded. 

There  is  indeed  no  theory-  advanced  in  either  of  the 
philosophical  romances  of  Balzac  which  cannot  be  traced 
to  authorities  and  co-ordinated  with  some  accepted  doc- 
trine. He  never  delivers  himself  over  recklessly  to  his 
fanc}-  in  these  works,  and  the  smallest  suggestion  has 
a  significance  of  its  own.  In  the  present  instance  he 
certainh'  appears  to  traverse  even  wideh'  adopted  es- 
oteric teachings,  but  the  more  reasonable  assumption 
must  be  that  this  contradiction  is  onlj-  apparent  and  not 
fundamental.  It  moi'eover  evidently  encloses  a  bold 
conception,  and  one  which  is  calculated  to  exalt  the 
character  and  conve}'  a  lofty  idea  of  the  powers  and 
perceptions  of  Seraphita.  Never  does  she  tower  more 
majestically  over  her  interlocutors  and  companions 
than  when  she  is  delivering  herself  of  this  masfnificent 
thought ;  and  nowhere  are  the  capabilities  and  poten- 


Ixviii  Introduction. 

tialities  of  humanit}'  more  strikingly  and  comprehen- 
sively suggested  than  in  the  intimation  that  man 
contains  within  himself  an  element  which  links  him 
lot  alone  with  the  highest  heavens,  but  with  that  in- 
scrutable, eternal  power  which  transcends  our  concep- 
tion of  the  celestial  as  much  as  that  surpasses  our 
material  experience.  The  thought  involved  is  indeed 
most  noble.  It  is  that  the  destinj'  of  man  connects 
him  with  an  existence  independent  of  and  superior  to 
all  the  changes  which  Matter  can  undergo ;  with  an 
existence  indissoluble  by  the  termination  either  of 
Material  or  Spiritual  universes ;  with  an  existence 
unaffected  by  pralayas  and  manvantaras,  and  which 
will  bear  him  scathless  through  every  catastrophe  and 
cataclysm  to  which  the  formed  and  the  formless  worlds 
are  said  by  Eastern  occultism  to  be  alike  subject.  The 
vista  thus  opened  to  the  imagination  is  stupendous 
beyond  question,  but  it  may  be  explored  boldly  or 
timidly  as  the  reader's  inclinations  and  mental  and 
spiritual  tendencies  determine. 

The  strictures  of  Seraphita  upon  the  half-truths  and 
fallacies  of  physical  science  may  be  studied  profitably 
in  connection  with  that  critical  work  of  Judge  Stallo, 
"  The  Concepts  and  Theories  of  Modern  Physics," 
which  is  cited  in  the  Introduction  to  Louis  Lambert. 
But  the  real  uncertainty  of  many  alleged  scientific 
certainties  is  perhaps  best  shown  in  the  mercilessl}'' 
destructive  criticism  which  rival  men  of  science  practise 
upon  one  another's  theories  and  doctrines.  The  refer- 
ence to  ' '  the  greatest  man  among  you  "  —  who  is  said  by 


Introduction.  Ixix 

Seraphita,  with  rhetorical  exaggeration,  to  have  "died 
in  despair "  because  toward  the  close  of  his  life  he 
realized  the  inadequacy  of  his  favorite  hypothesis  to 
account  for  the  universe  —  of  course  applies  to  Sir 
Isaac  Newton,  whose  essay  at  interpretation  of  the 
Apocalypse  caused  his  brother  scientists  to  shrug  their 
shoulders  and  lament  the  breaking  down  of  that  superb 
mind.  Nor  is  it  at  all  incredible  that  Newton  should 
have  been  drawn  to  his  Scriptural  studies  by  recognition 
of  the  need  for  some  such  initiating  and  sustaining  force 
in  the  universe  as  the  old  doctrine  of  the  Logos  supplies. 
It  is  certain,  as  has  been  pointed  out  before,  that  he 
was  by  no  means  so  self-confident  as  his  followers,  and 
that  in  particular  he  entertained  serious  doubts  as  to  the 
sufficiency  of  his  theory  of  gi-avitation,  —  doubts,  be  it 
said,  which  modern  research  and  scientific  progress 
have  strengthened  instead  of  diminishing.  Indeed, 
Seraphita  might  have  reinforced  her  argument  with 
many  more  instances  of  scientific  mistakes  and  in- 
sufficient explanations.  There  are  to-day  few  even  of 
the  theories  commonly  regarded  as  most  firmly  estab- 
lished which  do  not  present  difficulties  hitherto  in- 
soluble, and  which  are  not  cautiously  held  by  men  of 
truly  open  minds  as  at  the  best  provisional.  —  con- 
venient working  hypotheses,  but  not  to  be  safely  made 
the  ground  of  definitive  conclusions. 

At  the  close  of  Seraphita's  harangue  her  auditors 
withdraw,  confounded ;  but  the  impression  produced 
upon  their  minds  rapidly  fades,  and  the  next  morning 
the  Pastor  is  once  more  prepared  to  find,  in  the  pages 


Ixx  Introduction. 

of  his  favorite  Wier,  a  clue  to  the  in3'stei'ious  knowl- 
edge and  argumentative  powers  of  the  3'oung  girl, 
whom  he  would  fain  regard  as  insane  or  under  "pos- 
session." As  Balzac  cites  Wier  on  several  occasions 
in  this  book,  and  as  he  is  an  author  probably  not 
known  to  the  generalit}'  of  readers,  it  may  be  well  to 
giA^e  some  account  of  his  writings,  the  more  particu- 
larl}'  as  there  is  some  special  significance  in  the  refer- 
ence to  his  once  celebrated  work  on  witchcraft.  John 
Wier  was  a  learned  physician  of  Cleves,  who  was  the 
first  to  publish  a  protest  against  the  wild  witchcraft 
panic  that  in  the  sixteenth  and  many  preceding  centu- 
ries, caused  a  frightful  slaughter  of  deluded  and  inno- 
cent victims  throughout  Europe.  Wier's  book,  entitled 
"  De  Praestigiis  Daemonum,"  would  not  in  the  present 
day  be  regarded  as  anything  but  a  grossly  superstitious 
work.  The  author  was  indeed  no  less  credulous  than 
his  contemporaries.  He  believed  with  them  that  the 
atmosphere  swarmed  with  evil  spirits,  that  a  personal 
devil  went  around  like  a  roaring  lion,  destro3ing  souls, 
that  all  manner  of  miraculous  events  were  continually 
occurring.  In  fact,  he  accepted  all  the  evidence  upon 
which  Sprenger,  Bodin,  and  the  whole  school  of  the  In- 
quisition, founded  their  theories  of  witchcraft ;  but  he 
interpreted  the  alleged  phenomena  differentl}',  and  more 
in  accord  with  the  scientific  spirit.  His  explanation 
was  that  many  of  the  so-called  witches  were  lunatics, 
and  that  the  majority  of  those  said  to  be  bewitched, 
together  with  man}'  accused  of  sorcery,  were  simply 
possessed  b}'  the  devil.     The  latter,  he  argued,  had  no 


Introduction.  Ixxi 

need  to  act  iudireetlj'  through  witches,  when  he  could 
dekide  his  victims  directly',  and  he  disposed  of  the 
witch  theory  by  asserting  that  Satan  put  it  into  the 
heads  of  the  possessed  to  denounce  old  women  as 
witches,  in  order  that  as  much  mischief  and  suffering 
as  possible  might  be  caused.  Wier  was  a  humane 
man,  —  a  rare  phenomenon  in  his  time,  —  and  the  tor- 
tures  and  burnings  occurring  ever3-where  revolted  him. 
He  was  careful  to  declare  his  opinion  that  all  real 
witches  deserved  the  most  severe  punishment ;  but 
he  was  plainly  doubtful  whether  there  were  an}-  real 
witches. 

Conservative  and  credulous  as  his  book  appears  now, 
it  created  intense  indignation  among  the  believers  in 
witchcraft,  who  were  not  merely  the  majority  of  men 
then  living,  but,  which  seems  far  stranger,  the  majority 
of  the  educated  and  (relativelj-)  intelligent  class.  In 
proof  of  this,  the  fact  ma}'  be  cited  that  Wier's  book 
was  answered  by  John  Bodin,  in  an  equally  remarkable 
work  entitled  "  De  la  Demonomanie  des  Sorciers." 
Bodin  attacked  Wier  with  ferocity,  upholding  the  au- 
thority of  the  indorsers  of  witchcraft  and  denouncing 
the  kindly  doctor  of  Cleves  as  little  better  than  an  athe- 
ist and  a  heretic.  Now  Bodin,  as  Lecky  observes 
in  his  "  History'  of  Rationalism,"  was  "  esteemed  by 
many  of  his  contemporaries  the  ablest  man  who  had 
then  arisen  in  France,  and  the  verdict  has  been  but 
littliC  qualified  by  later  writers.  Amid  all  the  distrac- 
tions of  a  dissipated  and  inti'iguing  court,  and  all  the 
labors  of  a  judicial  position,  he  had  amassed  an  amount 


Ixxii  Introduction. 

of  learning  so  vast  and  so  various  as  to  place  him  in 
the  very  first  rank  of  the  scholars  of  his  nation.  He 
has  also  the  far  higher  merit  of  being  one  of  the  chief 
founders  of  political  philosophy  and  political  histor}', 
and  of  having  anticipated  on  these  subjects  many  of 
the  conclusions  of  our  own  day."  Yet  there  is  no 
superstition,  no  legend,  no  absurd  and  preposterous 
invention,  no  wild  and  grotesque  imagination,  too  diffi- 
cult to  be  received  and  digested  by  this  philosopher 
and  sage.  He  relies  absolutel}^  upon  authority.  He 
never  questions  traditions.  He  never  reasons  upon 
matters  of  fact.  He  never  exhibits  for  a  single  moment 
a  tendency  toward  scientific  investigation,  compari- 
son, and  inference.  He  abuses  Wier  in  the  old-fash- 
ioned dogmatic,  theological  manner.  He  calls  his  book 
a  "  tissue  of  horrible  blasphemies."  He  declares  that 
it  cannot  be  read  "without  righteous  anger."  Wier 
has  "  armed  himself  against  God ;  "  he  has  done  his 
best  to  disseminate  witchcraft,  to  support  the  kingdom 
of  Satan,  and  so  forth  through  many  pages.  Yet  Wier 
had  truly  not  advanced  very  far  before  his  age.  He 
held  to  most  of  the  old  barbarous  doctrines,  and  among 
them  to  that  of  the  superior  innate  frailty  and  deprav- 
ity of  women.  He,  in  common  with  manj^  others, 
had  asked  himself  why  so  large  a  proportion  of  alleged 
witches  were  women  ;  and  he,  in  common  with  many 
others,  explained  the  fact  b}'  asserting  that  they  were 
so  prone  to  evil  that  Satan  found  them  an  easj-  pre}'. 
Perhaps  it  was  especiall}'  because  of  Wier's  chapter 
upon  the  weaknesses  and  wickedness   of  women   that 


Introduction.  Ixxiii 

Balzac   chose  this  author  as  the  favorite  authority  of 
Pastor  Becker. 

In  the  twenty-seventh  chapter  of  his  sixth  book  he 
cites  a  long  array  of  classical  writers  in  support  of  the 
contention  that  women  have  always  been  speciall}-  ad- 
dicted to  the  employment  of  poison  as  an  agent  of  re- 
venge or  passion.     In  the  sixth  chapter  of  his  third 
book  he  observes:    "  Le   diable   ennemi   fin,  ruze   et 
cauteleux,  induit  volontiers  le  sexe  feminin,  lequel  est 
inconstant  k  raison  de  sa  complexion,  de  legere  croy- 
ance,  malicieux,  impatient,  melancolique  pour  ne  pou- 
voir  commander  k  ses  afections ;  et  principaleraent  les 
vieilles,  debiles,  stupides  et  d'esprit  chancelant."     This 
is  why  that  Old  Serpent  addressed  himself  rather  to 
Eve  than   to   Adam ;    and   this   is   why  he   so   easily 
seduced  Eve.      The  holy  Saint  Peter  also  has  denomi- 
nated them  "weak  vessels,"  and  Saint  Chrysostom  has 
remarked,  in  his  homily  upon  Matthew,  that  the  female 
sex   is   imprudent   and   ductile,   easily  influenced   and 
swayed,  either  from  good  to  evil  or  from  evil  to  good. 
He  ventures  into  the  difficult  region  of  etymology  in 
search  of  further  proof,  and  discovers  one  in  the  deri- 
vation of  the  Latin  muUer  from  mollier  or  molU,  ' '  which 
signifies  softness."     It  may  be  conjectured  that  when 
Pastor  Becker  sought  in  the  treatise  of  John  Wier  con- 
firmation of  his  theory  regarding  Seraphita's  inspiration, 
he  had  in  mind  the  worth}'  doctor's  views  concerning 
women,  and  their  special  fitness  as  vehicles  of  diaboli- 
cal influences.    Pastor  Becker  refers,  as  a  case  in  point, 
to  the  histoi-y  of  a  young  Italian  girl  who,  at  the  age  of 


Ixxiv  Introduction. 

twelve,  spoke  forty-two  languages,  ancient  and  modern. 
Wier  has  a  story  of  a  Saxon  woman,  unable  to  read  or 
write,  who  ' '  being  possessed  by  the  devil "  spoke  in 
Latin  and  Greek,  and  prophesied  concerning  future 
events,  —  all  of  which  came  to  pass.  He  also  tells  of 
an  idiotic  Italian  woman  who,  being  under  the  same 
infernal  influence,  and  asked  which  was  Virgil's  finest 
verse,  replied  suddenly  — 

"  Discite  justitiam  moniti  et  non  temnere  Divos." 

It  is  an  interesting  point  in  these  old  ideas  that  the 
mediaeval  notions  about  women  rested  upon  observa- 
tion of  the  essential  differences  between  the  masculine 
and  feminine  natures  ;  but  external  observation  alone. 
To  quote  Leck^-'s  admirable  analj'sis  of  mediaeval  per- 
secution again :  ' '  The  question  why  the  immense 
majority  of  those  who  were  accused  of  sorcery  should 
be  women  early  attracted  attention ;  and  it  was  gener- 
ally answered,  not  by  the  sensibilit}'  of  their  nervous 
constitution,  and  b}-  their  consequent  liability  to  re- 
ligious monomania  and  epidemics,  but  by  the  inherent 
wickedness  of  the  sex.  There  was  no  subject  on  which 
the  old  writers  expatiated  with  more  indignant  elo- 
quence, or  with  more  copious  illustration," — of  which 
we  have  just  given  an  example  in  John  "VVier.  Another 
instance  of  the  horrible  perversion  of  ideas  which 
characterized  those  dark  ages  may  be  found  in  the 
interpretation  given  to  the  superior  constancy'  of  women 
in  facing  torture.  The  contemporary  explanation  of 
this  was  that  the  Devil  provided  all  witches  with  means 


Introduction.  Ixxv 

of  withstanding  the  torment ;  and  the  inevitable  corol- 
lary of  such  reasoning  was  a  stimulation  of  ingenuity 
in  devising  and  apph'ing  more  searching  and  cruel 
tortures  to  women.  There  can  be  no  question  that 
had  Seraphita  lived  in  the  time  of  Wier  and  Bodin  the 
former  would  have  considered  her  a  demoniac,  and  the 
latter  would  have  denounced  her  as  a  witch,  the  only 
fit  destiny  of  whom  was  the  stake  :  and  it  may  be  that 
Balzac  intended  to  hint  at  the  contrast  between  med 
iaeval  and  modern  thought  in  introducing,  in  John  Wier, 
the  most  signal,  but  at  tbe  same  time  narrow  and  feeble, 
illustration  of  sixteenth  century  liberalism. 

The  sixth  chapter  of  ' '  Seraphita  "  is  chiefly  occupied 
with  the  beautiful  and  noble  discourse  in  which  the 
dying  m3-stic  unfolds  to  her  companions  the  secret  of 
"the  Path."  Up  to  this  time  Wilfrid,  who  represents 
the  Abstractive  type,  has  failed  to  understand  Seraphita. 
Earthl}'  ambitions  still  burn  fiercely  in  his  breast. 
He  cherishes  what  seem  to  him  high  thoughts  of  con- 
quest. He  would  go  to  Central  Asia  and  plot  against 
the  British  supremac}'  in  India.  He  would  head  such 
a  formidable  irruption  of  Asiatic  tribes  as  Genghis 
Khan  organized.  He  thinks  that  the  prospect  of  sov- 
ereignty, of  Oriental  luxury  and  splendor,  will  tempt 
Seraphita,  and  he  la^'s  before  her  his  far-reaching 
schemes  and  invites  her  to  share  his  glory.  But  Sera- 
phita smiles.  There  is  for  her  no  temptation  in  such 
offers.  As  she  says,  beings  more  powerful  than  Wilfrid 
have  alread}'  sought  to  dazzle  her  with  far  greater  gifts. 
Minna  approaches  with  a  more  dangerous  because   a 


Ixxvi  Introduction. 

purer  and  higher  petition.  She  offers  nothing  but  her< 
self  as  a  vicarious  sufferer.  Love  raises  her  above  the 
sphere  of  the  Abstractive.  Already  the  divine  is  shin- 
ing through  her  envelope  of  flesh.  Alread}*  the  tender 
loyal  heart  has  found  the  entrance  to  the  Path  by 
which  alone  the  celestial  sphere  can  be  attained.  Then 
the  prophetic  vision  of  Seraphita  recognizes  in  these 
two  the  elements  of  Force  and  Love  which,  when  puri- 
fied by  the  discipline  of  patient  suffering,  will  unite  to 
constitute  the  relatively  perfect  Angelic  entity.  This 
is  the  meaning  of  the  exclamation  she  utters  in  gazing 
upon  Wilfrid  and  Minna  before  she  begins  her  final 
address  to  them. 

That  address  may  be  regarded  as  in  some  sense  a 
recapitulation  of  all  the  doctrines  indicated  and  shad- 
owed forth  in  the  preceding  parts  of  the  stor}'.  Once 
more,  and  now  witli  large  insistence,  the  doctrine  of  re- 
incarnation is  dwelt  upon,  and  referred  to  as  the  neces- 
sary and  sole  explanation  of  human  evolution.  Balzac 
here  treats  it  more  in  detail  than  he  has  done  elsewhere, 
although  it  is  the  basis  of  Seraphita's  history,  and 
makes  intelligible  the  whole  structure  of  her  existence 
and  theosophy.  Seraphita  traces  existence  from  the 
Instinctive  sphere  upward.  The  lower  life  is  occupied, 
she  says,  with  exploitation  of  the  purely  material.  It  is 
there  that  the  inevitable  lust  of  possession  has  to  be 
worked  out.  It  is  there  that  men  toil  and  struggle  to 
amass  earthly  treasures,  and,  having  succeeded,  slowly 
realize  the  uselessness  of  such  riches.  Matter  must  be 
exhausted  before  Spirit  assumes    control,   and  it  may 


Introduction.  Ixxvii 

happen  that  many  existences  are  required  to  expend  the 
craving  for  impermanent  possessions.  As  a  rule  men 
indulge  their  lowest  desires  to  satiety,  and  it  is  only 
when  disgust  overcomes  them,  when  the  emptiness  of 
all  mundane  enjoyments  is  demonstrated  b}'  prolonged 
experiment,  that  they  begin  to  seek  a  more  excellent 
way.  The  long  period  of  education  is  protracted  still 
further  by  relapses  and  excesses.  "  A  lifetime  is  often 
no  more  than  sufficient  to  acquire  virtues  which  balance 
the  vices  of  the  preceding  existence."  At  length  suffer- 
ing brings  love,  and  love  self-sacrifice,  and  that  aspira- 
tion, and  aspiration,  prayer;  which  is  the  direct  bond 
of  union  between  the  finite  and  the  infinite.  It  is  in- 
deed no  new  lesson.  The  directions  for  gaining  the 
strait  and  narrow  path  have  been  vouchsafed  to  the  sons 
of  men  in  countless  forms  and  ways,  and  with  charac- 
teristic perseverance  and  malign  ingenuity  \hey  have 
nullified  their  opportunities  again  and  again  by  quarrel- 
ling over  the  phraseology  and  disputing  the  authority  of 
the  guide-books,  while  ignoring  the  significance  of  the 
essential  harmony  which  subsists  between  all  the  rules 
laid  down  for  the  attainment  of  ultimate  felicity  and 
emancipation  from  evil.  Yet  the  recognition  of  the 
superior  attractions  of  the  Divine  can  never  be  for  all 
alike.  For  the  souls  still  chained  to  Matter  in  the  In- 
stinctive sphere,  for  the  majority  even  of  the  Abstrac- 
tives,  the  allurements  of  the  impermanent  world  must 
continue  to  be  insuperable.  It  is  only  the  minority  who 
possess  the  courage  to  endure  what  follows  every  sin- 
cere movement  of  separation  from  the  Material.      The 


Ixxviii  Introduction. 

latter,  though  in  one  sense  but  a  condition  of  Spirit,  is 
in  its  lower  forms  hostile  to  Spirit,  and  it  resents  its 
renunciation  by  the  few  who  elect  to  enter  the  Path. 
Instinctive  Man  not  only  deliberatel}'  prefers  his  inferi- 
ority, but  regards  with  positive  enmit}'  all  who  evince  a 
desire  to  ascend  in  the  scale  of  existence.  This  enmity 
is  in  part  automatic  and  literally  instinctive,  and  resem- 
bles the  resistance  which  an  air-breathing  creature  offers 
to  immersion  in  the  water.  Instinctive  Man  cannot 
breathe  nor  live  in  the  rarified  atmosphere  of  the  Di- 
vine, and  feeling  this  he  fights  with  all  his  strength 
against  ever}'  attempt  to  raise  him  to  that  uninhabitable 
sphere.  The  Path  once  chosen,  therefore,  the  pilgrim 
must  make  his  account  with  persecution  and  scorn  and 
ill-feeling.  The  world  will  not  let  him  go  at  all  will- 
ingl}',  and  if  he  tear  himself  away  will  surelj-  follow 
him  with  its  sharp  displeasure. 

These  two,  however,  —  Wilfrid  and  Minna,  —  were, 
as  Seraphita  knows,  prepared  by  previous  incarnations 
to  take  the  step  which  should  separate  them  from  the 
world  ;  and  her  final  task  is  the  application  of  the  stimu- 
lus which  shall  determine  them  in  entering  upon  their 
new  and  arduous  career.  As  he  listens  to  the  se- 
raphic eloquence  of  the  m3-sterious  being  he  has  in  vain 
tried  to  entangle  in  the  meshes  of  an  earthly  love,  Wil- 
frid feels  his  carnal  impulses  dying,  and  a  purer,  loftier 
aspiration  takes  their  place.  For  the  first  time  he 
begins  to  comprehend  who  and  what  Seraphita  is.  For 
the  first  time  he  is  made  to  perceive  the  delusive  char- 
acter of  his  dreams  of  earthly  glory  and  magnificence. 


Introduction.  Ixxix 

For  the  first  time,  also,  he  looks  upon  the  human  girl 
beside  him  with  a  feeling  of  respect  and  sympathy-,  and 
is  drawn  toward  her  by  the  attraction  of  a  common 
yearning  after  the  higher  life.  Then  the  work  of  Sera- 
phita  on  the  plane  of  humauitj-  is  finished,  and  in  a 
final  burst  of  rapture  and  adoration  her  spirit  breaks 
the  last  fragile  bonds  uniting  it  to  the  body,  and  she 
rises  into  the  celestial  spheres  to  receive  judgment, 
reward,  whatever  is  awaiting  her.  The  final  chapter, 
entitled  "The  Assumption"  by  Balzac,  is  an  exqui- 
sitely imagined  vision.  Wilfrid  and  Minna,  kneeling 
by  the  body  of  Seraphita,  are  rapt  into  the  heavens. 
For  a  time  their  spirits  are  permitted  to  leave  their 
shells  and  traverse  the  lower  fields  of  space,  whence 
they  are  enabled  to  witness  the  splendor  and  majesty 
of  their  late  companion's  divine  initiation.  There  is  no 
need  to  follow  or  interpret  this  closing  scene.  It  is 
only  necessary  to  say  that  it  fitly  concludes  a  marvel- 
lous work  ;  that  notwithstanding  the  unavoidable  em- 
ployment of  some  conventional  forms,  the  elevation, 
nobilit}-,  solemnity,  and  beauty  of  the  whole  picture 
render  it  a  literary  masterpiece,  scarcely  equalled  and 
not  surpassed  by  the  most  glowing  conceptions  of  the 
greatest  mj'stical  poets. 

So  ends  Balzac's  philosophical  trilogy.  The  human 
imagination,  stretched  to  the  utmost  in  sustaining  these 
last  and  loftiest  creations,  can  proceed  no  farther.  The 
author  has  traced  the  evolution  of  the  spirit  from  the 
natural  to  the  divine  world.  Beyond  the  threshold  of 
the  latter  it  is  not  given  to  incarnated  souls  to  pene- 


j^xx  Introduction. 

trate  save  in  vision,  but  the  path  which  leads  upward 
has  been  indicated  with  equal  skill  and  subtlety,  and 
some  intimation  has  been  given  of  the  glories  which 
attend  translation  to  the  celestial  sphere.  As  a  literary 
experiment  "  Seraphita  "  stands  alone.  It  is  bold, — 
some  may  think  even  to  rashness,  —  but  its  beauty  and 
spirituality  must  be  admitted,  and  it  crowns  a  diffi- 
cult and  laborious  enterprise  finely,  harmoniously,  and 

majestically. 

George  Frederic  Parsons. 


SERAPHITA. 


SERAPHITUS. 

As   the   eye   glances   over  a  map  of  the  coasts  of 
Norway,  can  the  imagination  fail  to  marvel  at  their 
fantastic  indentations  and  serrated  edges,  like  a  gran- 
ite  lacgj^  against  which   the   surges  of  the  North  Sea 
roar  incessantly?    Who  has   not   dreamed  of  the  ma- 
jestic sights  ever  to  be  seen  on  those  beachless  shores, 
of  that  multitude  of  creeks  and  inlets  and  little  baj's,  no 
two  of  them  alike,  yet  all  trackless  abysses?     We  may 
almost  fancy  that  Nature  took  pleasure  in  recording  by 
ineffaceable  hieroglyphics  the  symbol  of  Norwegian  life, 
bestowing  on  these  coasts  the  conformation  of  a  fish's 
spine,  fishery  being  the  staple  commerce  of  the  countr}', 
and  well-nigh    the  only  means  of  living  of  the  hardy 
men  who  cling  like  tufts  of  lichen  to  the  arid  cliffs. 
Here,  through   fourteen   degrees   of  longitude,   barely 
£!even   hundred    thousand    souls    maintain    existence. 
IChanks  to  perils  devoid  of  glory,  to  year-long   snows 
M'hich  clothe  the  Norwa}'  peaks  and  guard  them  from 
J  profaning  foot  of  traveller,  these  sublime  beauties  are 

1 


J 


2  Seraphita. 

virgin  still ;  they  will  be  seen  to  harmonize  with  human 
phenomena,  also  virgin  —  at  least  to  poetr}-  —  which 
here  took  place,  the  history  of  which  it  is  our  purpose 
to  relate. 

If  one  of  these  inlets,  mere  fissures  to  the  ej'es  of 
the  eider-ducks,  is  wide  enough  for  the  sea  not  to  freeze 
between  the  prison-walls  of  rock  against  which  it  surges, 
the  country -people  call  the  little  bay  a_y?orc?,  —  a  word 
which  geographers  of  every  nation  have  adopted  into 
their  respective  languages.  Though  a  certain  resem- 
blance exists  among  all  these  fiords,  each  has  its  own 
characteristics.  The  sea  has  everywhere  forced  its  way 
as  through  a  breach,  yet  the  rocks  about  each  fissure 
are  diversel}'  rent,  and  their  tumultuous  precipices  defy 
the  rules  of  geometric  law.  Here  the  scarp  is  dentelled 
like  a  saw ;  there  the  narrow  ledges  barely  allow  the 
snow  to  lodge  or  the  noble  crests  of  the  Northern  pines 
to  spread  themselves ;  farther  on,  some  convulsion  of 
Nature  ma}'  have  rounded  a  coquettish  curve  into  a. 
lovel}'  valley  flanked  in  rising  terraces  with  black- 
plumed  pines.  Truh'  we  are  tempted  to  call  this  land 
the  Switzerland  of  Ocean. 

Midway  between  Trondhjem  and  Christiansand  lies 
an  inlet  called  the  Strom-fiord.  If  the  Strom-fiord  is 
not  the  loveliest  of  these  rocky  landscapes,  it  has  the 
merit  of  displaj'ing  the  terrestrial  grandeurs  of  Norway, 
and  of  enshrining  the  scenes  of  a  history  that  is  indeedx 
celestial. 

The  general  outline  of  the  Strom-fiord  seems  at  fir£-t 
sight  to  be  that  of  a  funnel  washed  out  hy  the  sea... 


Seraphita.  3 

The  passage  which  the  waves  have  forced  present  to 
the  eye  an  image  of  the  eternal  struggle  between  old 
Ocean  and  the  granite  rock,  —  two  creations  of  equal 
power,  one  through  inertia,  the  other  b}'  ceaseless  mo- 
tion. Reefs  of  fantastic  shape  run  out  on  either  side, 
and  bar  the  way  of  ships  and  forbid  their  entrance. 
The  intrepid  sons  of  Norwa}'  cross  these  reefs  on  foot, 
springing  from  rock  to  rock,  undismayed  at  the  abyss  — 
a  hundred  fathoms  deep  and  only  six  feet  wide  —  which 
3'awns  beneath  them.  Here  a  tottering  block  of  gneiss 
falUng  athwart  two  rocks  gives  an  uncertain  footway; 
there  the  hunters  or  the  fishermen,  carrying  their  loads, 
have  flung  the  stems  of  fir-trees  in  guise  of  bridges, 
to  join  the  projecting  reefs,  around  and  beneath  which 
the  surges  roar^  incessantly.  This  dangerous  entrance 
to  the  little  bay  bears  obliquely  to  the  right  with  a 
serpentine  movement,  and  there  encounters  a  moun- 
tain rising  some  twenty-five  hundred  feet  above  sea- 
level,  the  base  of  which  is  a  vertical  palisade  of  solid 
rock  more  than  a  mile  and  a  half  long,  the  inflexible 
granite  nowhere  3'ielding  to  clefts  or  undulations  until 
it  reaches  a  height  of  two  hundred  feet  above  the 
water.  Rushing  violently  in,  the  sea  is  driven  back 
with  equal  violence  by  the  inert  force  of  the  mountain 
to  the  opposite  shore,  gently  curved  by  the  spent  force 
of  the  retreating  waves. 

The  fiord  is  closed  at  the  upper  end  by  a  vast  gneiss 
formation  crowned  with  forests,  down  which  a  river 
plunges  in  cascades,  becomes  a  torrent  when  the  snows 
are  melting,  spreads  into  a  sheet  of  waters,  and  then 


4  Seraphita. 

falls  with  a  roar  into  the  bay,  — vomiting  as  it  does  so 
the  hoary  pines  and  the  aged  larches  washed  down 
from  the  forests  and  scarce  seen  amid  the  foam.  These 
trees  plunge  headlong  into  the  fiord  and  reappear  after 
a  time  on  the  surface,  clinging  together  and  forming 
islets  which  float  ashore  on  the  beaches,  where  the 
inhabitants  of  a  village  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Strom- 
fiord  gather  them  up,  split,  broken  (though  sometimes 
whole),  and  alwaj's  stripped  of  bark  and  branches. 
The  mountain  which  receives  at  its  base  the  assaults 
of  Ocean,  and  at  its  summit  the  buffeting  of  the  wild 
North  wind,  is  called  the  Falberg.  Its  crest,  wrapped 
at  all  seasons  in  a  mantle  of  snow  and  ice,  is  the 
sharpest  peak  of  Norway ;  its  proximit}'  to  the  pole 
produces,  at  the  height  of  eighteen  hundred  feet,  a 
degree  of  cold  equal  to  that  of  the  highest  mountains 
of  the  globe.  The  summit  of  this  rocky  mass,  rising 
sheer  from  the  fiord  on  one  side,  slopes  gradually 
downward  to  the  east,  where  it  joins  the  declivities  of 
the  Sieg  and  forms  a  series  of  terraced  valleys,  the 
chilly  temperature  of  which  allows  no  gi'owth  but  that 
of  shrubs  and  stunted  trees. 

The  upper  end  of  the  fiord,  where  the  waters  enter  it 
as  they  come  down  from  the  forest,  is  called  the  Sieg- 
dahlen, —  a  word  which  may  be  held  to  mean  "  the  shed- 
ding of  the  Sieg,"  —  the  river  itself  receiving  that  name. 
The  curving  shore  opposite  to  the  face  of  the  Falberg 
is  the  valley  of  Jarvis,  —  a  smiling  scene  overlooked  by 
hills  clothed  with  firs,  birch-trees,  and  larches,  mingled 
with  a  few  oaks  and  beeches,  the  richest  coloring  of  alJ 


Seraphita.  5 

the  varied  tapestries  which  Nature  in  these  northern 
regions  spreads  upon  the  surface  of  her  rugged  rocks. 
The  e3e  can  readily  mark  the  line  where  the  soil, 
warmed  by  the  rays  of  the  sun,  bears  cultivation  and 
shows  the  native  growth  of  the  Norwegian  flora.  Here 
the  expanse  of  the  fiord  is  broad  enough  to  allow  the 
sea,  dashed  back  by  the  Falberg,  to  spend  its  expiring 
force  in  gentle  murmurs  upon  the  lower  slope  of  these 
hills,  —  a  shore  bordered  with  finest  sand,  strewn  with 
mica  and  sparkling  pebbles,  porphyry,  and  marbles  of 
a  thousand  tints,  brought  from  Sweden  by  the  river 
floods,  together  with  ocean  waifs,  shells,  and  flowers 
of  the  sea  driven  in  by  tempests,  whether  of  the  Pole 
or  Tropics. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hills  of  Jarvis  lies  a  village  of  some 
two  hundred  wooden  houses,  where  an  isolated  popula- 
tion lives  like  a  swarm  of  bees  in  a  forest,  without 
increasing  or  diminishing ;  vegetating  happily,  while 
wringing  their  means  of  living  from  the  breast  of  a 
stern  Nature.  The  almost  unknown  existence  of  the 
little  hamlet  is  readily  accounted  for.  Few  of  its  in- 
habitants were  bold  enough  to  risk  their  lives  among 
the  reefs  to  reach  the  deep-sea  fishing,  —  the  staple  in- 
dustry of  Norwegians  on  the  least  dangerous  portions 
of  their  coast.  The  fish  of  the  fiord  were  numerous 
enough  to  suffice,  in  part  at  least,  for  the  sustenance 
of  the  inhabitants ;  the  valley  pastures  provided  milk 
and  butter  ;  a  certain  amount  of  fruitful,  well-tilled  soil 
yielded  rye  and  hemp  and  vegetables,  which  necessity 
taught  the   people  to  protect   against  the   severity  of 


6  Seraphita. 

the  cold  and  the  fleeting  but  terrible  heat  of  the  sun 
with  the  shrewd  ability  which  Norwegians  display  in 
the  two-fold  struggle.  The  difficulty  of  communication 
with  the  outer  world,  either  by  land  where  the  roads 
are  impassable,  or  by  sea  where  none  but  tiny  boats 
can  thread  their  way  through  the  maritime  defiles  that 
guard  the  entrance  to  the  bay,  hinder  these  people  from 
growing  rich  by  the  sale  of  their  timber.  It  would  cost 
enormous  sums  to  either  blast  a  channel  out  to  sea  or 
construct  a  way  to  the  interior.  The  roads  from  Chris- 
tiana to  Trondhjem  all  turn  toward  the  Strom-fiord,  and 
cross  the  Sieg  by  a  bridge  some  score  of  miles  above  its 
fall  into  the  bay.  The  country  to  the  north,  between 
Jarvis  and  Trondhjem,  is  covered  with  impenetrable 
forests,  while  to  the  south  the  Falberg  is  nearl}-  as 
much  separated  from  Christiana  by  inaccessible  preci- 
pices. The  village  of  Jarvis  might  perhaps  have  com- 
municated with  the  interior  of  Norway  and  Sweden  by 
the  river  Sieg ;  but  to  do  this  and  to  be  thus  brought 
into  contact  with  civilization,  the  Strom-fiord  needed 
the  presence  of  a  man  of  genius.  Such  a  man  did 
actuall}'  appear  there,  —  a  poet,  a  Swede  of  great  reli- 
gious fervor,  who  died  admiring,  even  reverencing  this 
region  as  one  of  the  noblest  works  of  the  Creator. 

Minds  endowed  by  study  with  an  inward  sight, 
and  whose  quick  perceptions  bring  before  the  soul, 
as  though  painted  on  a  canvas,  the  contrasting  scen- 
ery of  this  universe,  will  now  apprehend  the  general 
features  of  the  Strom- fiord.  They  alone,  perhaps,  can 
thread  their  way  through  the  tortuous  channels  of  the 


Seraphita.  7 

reef,  or  flee  with  the  battling  waves  to  the  everlasting 
rebuff  of  the  Falberg  whose  white  peaks  mingle  with 
the  vaporous  clouds  of  the  pearl-gra}-  sky,  or  watch 
with  delight  the  curving  sheet  of  waters,  or  hear  the 
rushing  of  the  Sieg  as  it  hangs  for  an  instant  in  long 
fillets  and  then  falls  over  a  picturesque  abatis  of  noble 
trees  toppled  confusedly  together,  sometimes  upright, 
sometimes  half-sunken  beneath  the  rocks.  It  ma}'  be 
that  such  minds  alone  can  dwell  upon  the  smiling 
scenes  nestling  among  the  lower  hills  of  Jarvis  ;  where 
the  luscious  Northern  vegetables  spring  up  in  families, 
in  myriads,  where  the  white  birches  bend,  graceful  as 
maidens,  where  colonnades  of  beeches  rear  their  boles 
moss}'  with  the  growths  of  centuries,  where  shades 
of  green  contrast,  and  white  clouds  float  amid  the 
blackness  of  the  distant  pines,  and  tracts  of  many- 
tinted  crimson  and  purple  shrubs  are  shaded  end- 
lessly ;  in  short,  where  blend  all  colors,  all  perfumes 
of  a  flora  whose  wonders  are  still  ignored.  Widen 
the  boundaries  of  this  limited  amphitheatre,  spring 
upward  to  the  clouds,  lose  yourself  among  the  rocks 
where  the  seals  are  lying  and  even  then  3'our  thought 
cannot  compass  the  wealth  of  beauty  nor  the  poetr}' 
of  this  Norwegian  coast.  Can  ^ur  thought  be  as 
vast  as^JJifi,  ocgan  that  bounds  it?  as  weird  as  the 
fantastic  forms  drawn  by  these  forests,"1these  clouds, 
these  shadowSj__thsaeIcEangierul  lights? 

Do  you  see  above  the  meadows  on  that  lowest  slope 
which  undulates  around  the  higher  hills  of  Jarvis  two 
or  three  hundred  houses  roofed  with  "noever,"  a  sort 


8  Seraphita. 

of  thatch  made  of  birch-bark,  —  frail  houses,  long  and 
low,  looking  like  silk-worms  on  a  mulberry-leaf  tossed 
hither  by  the  winds?  Above  these  humble,  peaceful 
dwellings  stands  the  church,  built  with  a  simplicity 
in  keeping  with  the  poverty  of  the  villagers.  A  grave- 
yard surrounds  the  chancel,  and  a  little  farther  on 
you  see  the  parsonage.  Higher  up,  on  a  projection 
of  the  mountain  is  a  dwelling-house,  the  only  one  of 
stone ;  for  which  reason  the  inhabitants  of  the  village 
call  it  "  the  Swedish  Castle."  In  fact,  a  wealthy 
Swede  settled  in  Jarvis  about  thirty  years  before  this 
history  begins,  and  did  his  best  to  ameliorate  its  con- 
dition. This  little  house,  certainly  not  a  castle,  built 
with  the  intention  of  leading  the  inhabitants  to  build 
others  like  it,  was  noticeable  for  its  solidity  and 
for  the  wall  that  inclosed  it,  a  rare  thing  in  Norway 
where,  notwithstanding  the  abundance  of  stone,  wood 
alone  is  used  for  all  fences,  even  those  of  fields.  This 
Swedish  house,  thus  protected  against  the  climate, 
stood  on  rising  ground  in  the  centre  of  an  immense 
courtj-ard.  The  windows  were  sheltered  by  those 
projecting  pent- house  roofs  supported  by  squared 
trunks  of  trees  which  give  so  patriarchal  an  air  to 
Northern  dwellings.  From  beneath  them  the  63-6 
could  see  the  savage  nudit}'  of  the  Falberg,  or  com- 
pare the  infinitude  of  the  open  sea  with  the  tin}-  drop 
of  water  in  the  foaming  fiord ;  the  ear  could  hear 
the  flowing  of  the  Sieg,  whose  white  sheet  far  away 
looked  motionless  as  it  fell  into  its  granite  cup  edged 
for  miles  around  with  glaciers,  —  in  short,  from   this 


Seraphita.  9 

vantage  ground  the  whole  landscape  whereon  our  simple 
yet  superhuman  drama  was  about  to  be  enacted  could 
be  seen  and  noted. 

The  winter  of  1799-1800  was  one  of  the  most  severe 
ever  known  to  Europeans.  The  Norwegian  sea  was 
frozen  in  all  the  fiords,  where,  as  a  usual  thing,  the 
violence  of  the  surf  kept  the  ice  from  forming.  A 
wind,  whose  effects  were  like  those  of  the  Spanish 
levanter,  swept  the  ice  of  the  Strom-fiord,  driving 
the  snow  to  the  upper  end  of  the  gulf.  Seldom  in- 
deed could  the  people  of  Jarvis  see  the  mirror  of 
frozen  waters  reflecting  the  colors  of  the  sky ;  a  won- 
drous sight  in  the  bosom  of  these  mountains  when  all 
other  aspects  of  nature  are  levelled  beneath  succes- 
sive sheets  of  snow,  and  crests  and  valle3's  are  alike 
mere  folds  of  the  vast  mantle  flung  by  winter  across 
a  landscape  at  once  so  mournfully  dazzling  and  so 
monotonous.  The  falling  volume  of  the  Sieg,  sud- 
denl}'  frozen,  formed  an  immense  arcade  beneath  which 
the  inhabitants  might  have  crossed  under  shelter  from 
the  blast  had  any  dared  to  risk  themselves  inland. 
But  the  dangers  of  every  step  away  from  their  own 
surroundings  kept  even  the  boldest  hunters  in  their 
homes,  afraid  lest  the  narrow  paths  along  the  preci- 
pices, the  clefts  and  fissures  among  the  rocks,  might 
be  unrecognizable  beneath  the  snow. 

Thus  it  was  that  no  human  creature  gave  life  to 
the  white  desert  where  Boreas  reigned,  his  voice  alone 
resounding  at  distant  intervals.  The  sky,  nearly  al- 
ways gra}',  gave  tones  of  polished  steel  to  the  ice  of 


10  Seraphita. 

the  fiord.  Perchance  some  ancient  eider-duck  crossed 
the  expanse,  trusting  to  the  warm  down  beneath  which 
dream,  in  other  lands,  the  luxurious  rich,  little  knowing 
of  the  dangers  through  which  their  luxury  has  come 
to  them.  Like  the  Bedouin  of  the  desert  who  darts 
alone  across  the  sands  of  Africa,  the  bird  is  neither 
seen  nor  heard ;  the  torpid  atmosphere,  deprived  of 
its  electrical  conditions,  echoes  neither  the  whirr  of 
its  wings  nor  its  joyous  notes.  Besides,  what  human 
eye  was  strong  enough  to  bear  the  gUtter  of  those 
pinnacles  adorned  with  sparkling  crystals,  or  the  sharp 
reflections  of  the  snow,  iridescent  on  the  summits  in 
the  rays  of  a  pallid  sun  which  infrequently  appeared, 
like  a  dying  man  seeking  to  make  known  that  he  still 
lives.  Often,  when  the  flocks  of  gray  clouds,  driven 
in  squadrons  athwart  the  mountains  and  among  the 
tree-tops,  hid  the  sky  with  their  triple  veils  Earth, 
lacking  the  celestial  lights,  lit  herself  by  herself. 

Here,  then,  we  meet  the  majesty  of  Cold,  seated 
eternally  at  the  pole  in  that  regal  silence  which  is  the 
attribute  of  all  absolute  monarchy.  Ever}-  extreme 
principle  carries  with  it  an  appearance  of  negation  and 
the  symptoms  of  death ;  for  is  not  life  the  struggle 
of  two  forces?  Here  in  this  Northern  nature  nothing 
lived.  One  sole  power  —  the  unproductive  power  of  ice 
—  reigned  unchallenged.  The  roar  of  the  open  sea  no 
longer  reached  the  deaf,  dumb  inlet,  where  during  one 
short  season  of  the  year  Nature  made  haste  to  produce 
the  slender  harvests  necessary  for  the  food  of  the  pa- 
tient people.     A  few  tall  pine-trees  lifted  their  black 


Seraphita.  11 

pyramids  garlanded  with  snow,  and  the  form  of  their 
long  branches  and  depending  shoots  completed  the 
mourning  garments  of  those  solemn  heights. 

Each  household  gathered  in  its  chimnej'-corner,  in 
houses  carefully  closed  from  the  outer  air,  and  well 
supplied  with  biscuit,  melted  butter,  dried  fish,  and 
other  provisions  laid  in  for  the  seven-months  winter. 
The  very  smoke  of  these  dwellings  was  hardly  seen, 
half-hidden  as  the}''  were  beneath  the  snow,  against  the 
weight  of  which  they  were  protected  b}'  long  planks 
reaching  from  the  roof  and  fastened  at  some  distance 
to  solid  blocks  on  the  ground,  forming  a  covered  way 
around  each  building. 

During  these  terrible  winter  months  the  women  spun 
and  dyed  the  woollen  stuffs  and  the  linen  fabrics  with 
which  they  clothed  their  families,  while  the  men  read, 
or  fell  into  those  endless  meditations  which  have  given 
birth  to  so  many  profound  theories,  to  the  mystic 
dreams  of  the  North,  to  its  beliefs,  to  its  studies  (so 
full  and  so  complete  in  one  science,  at  least,  sounded  as 
with  a  plummet) ,  to  its  manners  and  its  morals,  half- 
monastic,  which  force  the  soul  to  react  and  feed  upon 
itself  and  make  the  Norwegian  peasant  a  being  apart 
among  the  peoples  of  Europe. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  the  Strom-fiord  in  the  first 
3'ear  of  the  nineteenth  centur}'  and  about  the  middle  of 
the  month  of  May. 

On  a  morning  when  the  sun  burst  forth  upon  this 
landscape,  lighting  the  fires  of  the  ephemeral  diamonds 
produced  by  crystallizations  of  the  snow  and  ice,  two 


12  Seraphita. 

beings  crossed  the  fiord  and  flew  along  the  base  of 
the  Falberg,  rising  thence  from  ledge  to  ledge  toward 
the  summit.  What  were  the^"?  human  creatures,  or 
two  arrows?  The}'  might  have  been  taken  for  eider- 
ducks  sailing  in  consort  before  the  wind.  Not  the 
boldest  hunter  nor  the  most  superstitious  fisherman 
would  have  attributed  to  human  beings  the  power  to 
move  safel}^  along  the  slender  lines  traced  beneath  the 
snow  by  the  granite  ledges,  where  yet  this  couple  glided 
with  the  terrifying  dexterity  of  somnambulists  who,  for- 
getting their  own  weight  and  the  dangers  of  the  slight- 
est deviation,  hurrj'  along  a  ridge-pole  and  keep  their 
equilibrium  by  the  power  of  some  mysterious  force. 

"  Stop  me,  Seraphitus,"  said  a  pale  young  girl,  "  and 
let  me  breathe.  I  look  at  3'ou,  you  only,  while  scaling 
these  walls  of  the  gulf;  otherwise,  what  would  become 
of  me?  I  am  such  a  feeble  creature.  Do  I  tire  you?  " 
"  No,"  said  the  being  on  whose  arm  she  leaned. 
"But  let  us  go  on,  Minna;  the  place  where  we  are  is 
not  firm  enough  to  stand  on." 

Once  more  the  snow  creaked  sharpl}"  beneath  the  long 
boards  fastened  to  their  feet,  and  soon  the}'  reached  the 
upper  terrace  of  the  first  ledge,  clearly  defined  upon  the 
flank  of  the  precipice.  The  person  whom  Minna  had 
addressed  as  Seraphitus  threw  his  weight  upon  his  right 
heel,  arresting  the  plank  —  six  and  a  half  feet  long  and 
narrow  as  the  foot  of  a  child  —  which  was  fastened  to 
his  boot  by  a  double  thong  of  leather.  This  plank,  two 
inches  thick,  was  covered  with  reindeer  skin,  which 
bristled  against  the  snow  when  the  foot  was  raised,  and 


SerapJiita.  IS 

served  to  stop  the  wearer.  Seraphitus  drew  in  his  left 
foot,  furnished  with  another  "  skee,"  which  was  only 
two  feet  long,  turned  swiftl}'  where  he  stood,  caught  his 
timid  companion  in  his  arms,  lifted  her  in  spite  of  the 
long  boards  upon  her  feet,  and  placed  her  on  a  project- 
ing rock  from  which  he  brushed  the  snow  with  his 
pelisse. 

"You  are  safe  there,  Minna;  you  can  tremble  at 
3'our  ease." 

"We  are  a  third  of  the  way  up  the  Ice-Cap,"  she 
said,  looking  at  the  peak  to  which  she  gave  the  popular 
name  b}'  which  it  is  known  in  Norway  ;  "  I  can  hardly 
believe  it." 

Too  much  out  of  breath  to  say  more,  she  smiled  at 
Seraphitus,  who,  without  answering,  laid  his  hand  upon 
her  heart  and  listened  to  its  sounding  throbs,  rapid  as 
those  of  a  frightened  bird. 

"  It  often  beats  as  fast  when  I  run,"  she  said. 

Seraphitus  inclined  his  head  with  a  gesture  that  was 
neither  coldness  nor  indifference,  and  yet,  despite  the 
grace  which  made  the  movement  almost  tender,  it  none 
the  less  bespoke  a  certain  negation,  which  in  a  woman 
would  have  seemed  an  exquisite  coquetry.  Seraphitus 
clasped  the  j'oung  girl  in  his  arms.  Minna  accepted  the 
caress  as  an  answer  to  her  words,  continuing  to  gaze  at 
him.  As  he  raised  his  head,  and  threw  back  with  im- 
patient gesture  the  golden  masses  of  his  hair  to  free  his 
brow,  he  saw  an  expression  of  joy  in  the  eyes  of  his 
companion. 

"  Yes,  Minna,"  he  said  in  a  voice  whose  paternal 


14  Seraphita. 

accents  were  charming  from  the  lips  of  a  being  who 
was  still  adolescent,  "Keep  yonv  ejes  on  me;  do  not 
look  below  3'ou." 

"  Why  not?"  she  asked. 

*'  You  wish  to  know  why?  then  look  !  " 

Minna  glanced  quickly  at  her  feet  and  cried  out 
suddenl}'^  like  a  child  who  sees  a  tiger.  The  awful  sen- 
sation of  ab3'sses  seized  her ;  one  glance  sufficed  to 
comnmnicate  its  contagion.  The  fiord,  eager  for  food, 
bewildered  her  with  its  loud  voice  ringing  in  her  ears, 
interposing  between  herself  and  life  as  though  to  de- 
vour her  more  surely.  From  the  crown  of  her  head 
to  her  feet  and  along  her  spine  an  icy  shudder  ran ; 
then  suddenly  intolerable  heat  suffused  her  nerves, 
beat  in  her  veins  and  overpowered  her  extremities 
with  electric  shocks  like  those  of  the  torpedo.  Too 
feeble  to  resist,  she  felt  herself  drawn  b}*  a  m3'sterious 
power  to  the  depths  below,  wherein  she  fancied  that  she 
saw  some  monster  belching  its  venom,  a  monster  whose 
magnetic  eyes  were  charming  her,  whose  open  jaws 
appeared  to  craunch  their  prey  before  they  seized  it. 

"  I  die,  my  Seraphitus,  loving  none  but  thee,"  she 
said,  making  a  mechanical  movement  to  fling  herself 
into  the  abyss. 

Seraphitus  breathed  softly  on  her  forehead  and  eyes. 
Suddenly,  like  a  traveller  relaxed  after  a  bath,  Minna 
forgot  these  keen  emotions,  already  dissipated  b}'  that 
caressing  breath  which  penetrated  her  bodj'  and  filled 
it  with  balsamic  essences  as  quickl}'  as  the  breath  itself 
had  crossed  the  air. 


i 


SerapJiita.  15 

*'  Who  ai-t  thou?"  she  said,  with  a  feeling  of  gentle 
terror.  "Ah,  but  I  know!  thou  art  my  life.  How 
canst  thou  look  into  that  gulf  and  not  die  ?  "  she  added 
presently. 

Seraphitus  left  her  clinging  to  the  granite  rock  and 
placed  himself  at  the  edge  of  the  narrow  platform  on 
which  they  stood,  whence  his  eyes  plunged  to  the 
depths  of  the  fiord,  defying  its  dazzling  invitation. 
His  body  did  not  tremble,  his  brow  was  white  and  calm 
as  that  of  a  marble  statue,  —  an  abyss  facing  an  abyss. /I 

"Seraphitus!  dost  thou  not  love  me?  come  back!" 
she  cried.     "Thy  danger  renews  my  terror.     Who  art 
'  thou  to  have  such  superhuman  power  at  thy  age?"  she 
asked  as  she  felt  his  arms  inclosing  her  once  more. 

"  But,  Minna,"  answered  Seraphitus,  "  you  look  fear- 
lessly at  greater  spaces  far  than  that." 

Then  with  raised  finger,  this  strange  being  pointed 
upward  to  the  blue  dome,  which  parting  clouds  left 
clear  above  their  heads,  where  stars  could  be  seen 
in  open  day  by  virtue  of  atmospheric  laws  as  yet 
unstudied. 

"  But  what  a  difierence  !  "  she  answered  smiling. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said  ;  "  we  are  born  to  stretch 
upward  to  the  skies.  Our  native  land,  like  the  face  of 
a  mother,  cannot  terrify  her  children." 

His  voice  vibrated  through  the  being  of  his  com- 
panion, who  made  no  reply. 

"  Come  !  let  us  go  on,"  he  said. 

The  pair  darted  forward  along  tbe  narrow  paths 
traced  back  and  forth  upon  the  mountain,  skimming 


16  SerapMta. 

from  terrace  to  terrace,  from  line  to  line,  with  the 
rapidity  of  a  barb,  that  bird  of  the  desert.  Presently 
they  reached  an  open  space,  carpeted  with  turf  and 
moss  and  flowers,  where  no  foot  had  ever  trod. 

"Oh,  the  pretty  saeter!"  cried  Minna,  giving  to 
the  upland  meadow  its  Norwegian  name.  "  But  how 
comes  it  here,  at  such  a  height?" 

"  Vegetation  ceases  here,  it  is  true,"  said  Seraphitus. 
"These  few  plants  and  flowers  are  due  to  that  shelter- 
«  ing  rock  which  protects  the  meadow  from  the  polar 
winds.  Put  that  tuft  in  your  bosom,  Minna,"  he 
added,  gathering  a  flower,  —  "  that  balmy  creation 
which  no  eye  has  ever  seen ;  keep  the  solitary  match- 1 
less  flower  in  memory  of  this  one  matchless  morning  of ' 
your  life.  You  will  find  no  other  guide  to  lead  3'ou 
again  to  this  saeter." 

So  saying,  he  gave  her  the  hybrid  plant  his  falcon  eye 
had  seen  amid  the  tufts  of  gentian  acaulis  and  saxi- 
frages, —  a  marvel,  brought  to  bloom  by  the  breath  of  1 
angels.  With  girlish  eagerness  Minna  seized  the  tufted 
plant  of  transparent  green,  vivid  as  emerald,  which  was 
formed  of  little  leaves  rolled  trumpet-wise,  brown  at  the 
smaller  end  but  changing  tint  by  tint  to  their  delicately 
notched  edges,  which  were  green.  These  leaves  were  so 
tightly  pressed  together  that  they  seemed  to  blend  and 
form  a  mat  or  cluster  of  rosettes.  Here  and  there  from 
this  green  ground  rose  pure  white  stars  edged  with  a 
line  of  gold,  and  from  their  throats  came  crimson  anthers 
but  no  pistils.  A  fragrance,  blended  of  roses  and  of 
orange-blossoms,  yet  ethereal  and  fugitive,  gave  some- 


Seraphita.  17 

thing  as  it  were  celestial  to  that  mysterious  flower, 
which  Seraphitus  sadh'  contemplateci,  as  though  it  ut- 
tered plaintive  thoughts  which  he  alone  could  under- 
stand. But  to  Minna  this  mysterious  phenomenon 
seemed  a  mere  caprice  of  nature  giving  to  stone  the 
freshness,  softness,  and  perfume  of  plants. 

"Why  do  you  call  it  matchless?  can  it  not  repro- 
duce itself  ?  she  asked,  looking  at  Seraphitus,  who 
colored  and  turned  away. 

"  Let  us  sit  down,"  he  said  presently ;  "  look  below 
you,  Minna.  See !  At  this  height  you  will  have  no 
fear.  The  abyss  is  so  far  beneath  us  that  we  no  longer 
have  a  sense  of  its  depths  ;  it  acquires  the  perspective 
uniformity  of  ocean,  the  vagueness  of  clouds,  the  soft 
coloring  of  the  skv.  See,  the  ice  of  the  fiord  is  a  tur- 
quoise,  the  dark  pine  forests  are  mere  threads  of  brown  ; 
for  us  all  abysses  should  be  thus  adorned." 

Seraphitus  said  the  words  with  that  fervor  of  tone 
and  gesture  seen  and  known  only  by  those  who  have 
ascended  the  highest  mountains  of  the  globe,  —  a  fervor 
so  involuntarih'  acquired  that  the  haughtiest  of  men 
is  forced  to  regard  his  guide  as  a  brother,  forgetting  his 
own  superior  station  till  he  descends  to  the  valleys  and 
the  abodes  of  his  kind.  Seraphitus  unfastened  the  skees 
from  Minna's  feet,  kneeling  before  her.  The  girl  did  not 
notice  him,  so  absorbed  was  she  in  the  marvellous  view 
now  offered  of  her  native  land,  whose  rocky  outlines 
could  here  be  seen  at  a  glance.  She  felt,  with  deep  emo- 
tion, the  solemn  permanence  of  those  frozen  summits, 
to  which  words  could  give  no  adequate  utterance. 

2 


18  Seraphita. 

"We  have  not  come  here  by  human  power  alone," 
she  said,  clasping  her  hands.     "But  perhaps  I  dream." 

"  You  think  that  facts  the  causes  of  which  you  can- J/ 
not  perceive  are  supernatural,"  replied  her  companion.    ' 

"  Your  replies,"  she  said,  "  always  bear  the  stamp 
of  some  deep  thought.  When  I  am  near  you  I  under- 
stand all  things  without  an  effort.     Ah,  I  am  free  !  " 

"  If  so,  you  will  not  need  your  skees,"  he  answered. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said  ;  "I  who  would  fain  unfasten  yours 
and  kiss  your  feet ! " 

"Keep  such  words  for  Wilfrid,"  said  Seraphitus, 
gently. 

"  Wilfrid  !  "  cried  Minna  angrily  ;  then,  softening  as 
she  glanced  at  her  companion's  face  and  trying,  but  in 
vain,  to  take  his  hand,  she  added,  "  You  are  never 
angry,  never ;  you  are  so  hopelessly  perfect  in  all 
things." 

"  From  which  you  conclude  that  I  am  unfeeling." 

Minna  was  startled  at  this  lucid  interpretation  of  her 
thought. 

"You  prove  to  me,  at  an}^  rate,  that  we  understand 
each  other,"  she  said,  with  the  grace  of  a  loving 
woman. 

Seraphitus  softly  shook  his  head  and  looked  sadly 
and  gently  at  her. 

"  You,  who  know  all  things,"  said  Minna,  "  tell  me 
why  it  is  that  the  timidity  I  felt  below  is  over  now 
that  I  have  mounted  higher.  Why  do  I  dare  to  look 
at  3-ou  for  the  first  time  face  to  face,  while  lower  down 
T  scarcely  dared  to  give  a  furtive  glance  ? " 


Seraphita.  19 

*•  Perhaps  because  we  are  withdrawn  from  the  petti-)  f 
ness  of  earth,"  he  answered,  unfastening  his  pelisse. 

"  Never,  never  have  I  seen  j-ou  so  beautiful !  "  cried 
Minna,  sitting  down  on  a  moss}'  rock  and  losing  herself 
in  contemplation  of  the  being  who  had  now  guided 
her  to  a  part  of  the  peak  hitherto  supposed  to  be 
inaccessible. 

Never,  in  truth,  had  Seraphitus  shone  with  so  bright 
a  radiance,  —  the  only  word  that  can  render  the  illu- 
mination of  his  face  and  the  aspect  of  his  whole  person. 
Was  this  splendor  due  to  the  lustre  which  the  pure  air 
of  mountains  and  the  reflections  of  the  snow  give  to  the 
complexion  ?  "Was  it  produced  by  the  inward  impulse 
which  excites  the  bod}'  at  the  instant  when  exertion  is 
arrested?  Did  it  come  from  the  sudden  contrast  be- 
tween the  glory  of  the  sun  and  the  darkness  of  the 
clouds,  from  whose  shadow  the  charming  couple  had 
just  emerged?  Perhaps  to  all  these  causes  we  may  add 
the  effect  of  a  phenomenon,  one  of  the  noblest  which 
human  nature  has  to  offer.  If  some  able  physiologist 
had  studied  this  being  (who,  judging  by  the  pride  on 
his  brow  and  the  lightning  in  his  eyes  seemed  a  3'outh 
of  about  seventeen  years  of  age),  and  if  the  student 
had  sought  for  the  springs  of  that  beaming  life  beneath 
the  whitest  skin  that  ever  the  North  bestowed  upon  her 
offspring,  he  would  undoubtedly  have  believed  either  in 
some  phosphoric  fluid  of  the  nerves  shining  beneath  the 
cuticle,  or  in  the  constant  presence  of  an  inward  lumi- 
nary, whose  rays  issued  through  the  being  of  Seraphitus 
like  a  light  through  an  alabaster  vase.     Soft  and  slen- 


20  Serapliita. 

*  der  as  were  his  hands,  ungloved  to  remove  his  compan- 
ion's snow-shoes,  they  seemed  possessed  of  a  strength 
equal  to  that  which  the  Creator  gave  to  the  diaphanous 
tentacles  of  the  crab.  The  fire  darting  from  his  vivid 
glance  seemed  to  struggle  with  the  beams  of  the  sun, 
not  to  take  but  to  give  them  light.  His  body,  slim  and 
delicate  as  that  of  a  woman,  gave  evidence  of  one  of 
those  natures  which  are  feeble  apparently,  but  whose 
strength  equals  their  will,  rendering  them  at  times 
powerful.  Of  medium  height,  Seraphitus  appeared  to 
grow  in  stature  as  he  turned  fully  round  and  seemed 
about  to  spring  upward.  His  hair,  curled  by  a  fairj-'s 
hand  and  waving  to  the  breeze,  increased  the  illusion 
produced  by  this  aerial  attitude  ;  yet  his  bearing,  wholly 
without  conscious  effort,  was  the  result  far  more  of  a 
jl  moral  phenomenon  than  of  a  corporal  habit. 

Minna's  imagination  seconded  this  illusion,  under  the 
dominion  of  which  all  persons  would  assuredly  have 
fallen,  —  an  illusion  which  gave  to  Seraphitus  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  vision  dreamed  of  in  happy  sleep.  No 
known  t3'pe  conveys  an  image  of  that  form  so  majes- 
tically male  to  Minna,  but  which  to  the  ej'es  of  a  man 
would  have  eclipsed  in  womanly  grace  the  fairest  of 
Raphael's  creations.  That  painter  of  heaven  has  ever 
put  a  tranquil  jo}',  a  loving  sweetness,  into  the  lines  of 
his  angelic  conceptions ;  but  what  soul,  unless  it  con- 
templated Seraphitus  himself,  could  have  conceived 
the  ineffable  emotions  imprinted  on  his  face?  Who 
would  have  divined,  even  in  the  dreams  of  artists, 
where  all  things  become  possible,  the  shadow  cast  by 


Seraphita.  21 

some  mysterious  awe  upon  that  brow,  shining  with  in- 
tellect, which  seemed  to  question  Heaven  and  to  pity 
Earth?  The  head  hovered  awhile  disdainfully,  as  some 
majestic  bird  whose  cries  reverberate  on  the  atmos- 
phere, then  bowed  itself  resignedly,  like  the  turtledove 
uttering  soft  notes  of  tenderness  in  the  depths  of  the 
silent  woods.  His  complexion  was  of  marvellous  white- 
ness, which  brought  out  vividly  the  coral  lips,  the 
brown  eyebrows,  and  the  silken  lashes,  the  only  colors 
that  trenched  upon  the  paleness  of  that  face,  whose 
perfect  regularity  did  not  detract  from  the  grandeur  of 
the  sentiments  expressed  in  it ;  nay,  thought  and  emo- 
tion were  reflected  there,  without  hindrance  or  violence, 
with  the  majestic  and  natural  gravit}'  which  we  delight 
in  attributing  to  superior  beings.  That  face  of  purest 
marble  expressed  in  all  things  strength  and  peace. 

Minna  rose  to  take  the  hand  of  Seraphitus,  hoping 
thus  to  draw  him  to  her,  and  to  lay  on  that  seductive 
brow  a  kiss  given  more  from  admiration  than  from 
love ;  but  a  glance  at  the  young  man's  eyes,  which 
pierced  her  as  a  ray  of  sunlight  penetrates  a  prism, 
paralyzed  the  young  girl.  She  felt,  but  without  com- 
prehending, a  gulf  between  them  ;  then  she  turned  awaj'' 
her  head  and  wept.  Suddenly  a  strong  hand  seized  her 
by  the  waist  and  a  soft  voice  said  to  her:  "  Come ! " 
She  obeyed,  resting  her  head,  suddenly  revived,  upon 
the  heart  of  her  companion,  who,  regulating  his  step  to 
hers  with  gentle  and  attentive  conformit}-,  led  her  to  a 
spot  whence  they  could  see  the  radiant  glories  of  the 
polar  Nature. 


22  Seraphita. 

"Before  I  look,  before  I  listen  to  you,  tell  me, 
Seraphitus,  why  you  repulse  me.  Have  I  displeased 
you?  and  how?  tell  me!  I  want  nothing  for  myself; 
I  would  that  all  my  earthly  goods  were  3'ours,  for  the 
riches  of  m}'  heart  are  yours  alread}'.  I  would  that 
light  came  to  my  eyes  only  through  j'our  eyes  just  as 
my  thought  is  born  of  your  thought.  I  should  not 
then  fear  to  offend  you,  for  I  should  give  you  back  the 
echoes  of  3'our  soul,  the  words  of  3'our  heart,  day  by 
day,  —  as  we  render  to  God  the  meditations  with  which 
his  spirit  nourishes  our  minds.  I  would  be  thine 
alone." 

' '  Minna,  a  constant  desire  is  that  which  shapes  our 
future.  Hope  on  !  But  if  j'ou  would  be  pure  in  heart 
mingle  the  idea  of  the  All-Powerful  with  j'our  affections 
here  below ;  then  yoM  will  love  all  creatures,  and  your 
heart  will  rise  to  heights  indeed." 

"I  will  do  all  you  tell  me,"  she  answered,  lifting  her 
ej'es  to  his  with  a  timid  movement. 

"  I  cannot  be  j-our  companion,"  said  Seraphitus 
sadh". 

He  seemed  to  repress  some  thoughts,  then  stretched 
his  arms  towards  Christiana,  just  visible  like  a  speck  on 
the  horizon  and  said  :  — 

"Look!" 

"  We  are  very  small,"  she  said. 

"Yes,   but   we   become   great  through   feeling   and|| 
through  intellect,"  answered   Seraphitus.     "With   us, 
and  us  alone,  Minna,  begins  the  knowledge  of  things ; 
the  little  that  we  learn  of  the  laws  of  Hie  visible  world 


tSerapJiita.  23 

enables  us  to  apprehend  the  immensit}"  of  the  worlds  ff 
invisible.  I  know  not  if  the  time  has  come  to  speak 
thus  to  you,  but  I  would,  ah,  I  would  communicate 
to  3'ou  the  flame  of  m}-  hopes  I  Perhaps  we  ma}- 
one  da}-  be  together  in  the  world  where  Love  never 
dies." 

"  Why  not  here  and  now?"  she  said,  murmuring. 

"  Nothing  is  stable  here,"  he  said,  disdainfully. 
"The  passing  joys  of  earthly-  love  are  gleams  which 
reveal  to  certain  souls  the  coming  of  jo3-s  more  dura- 
ble ;  just  as  the  discovery  of  a  single  law  of  nature 
leads  certain  privileged  beings  to  a  conception  of  the 
system  of  the  universe.  Our  fleeting  happiness  here 
below  is  the  forerunning  proof  of  another  and  a  per- 
fect happiness,  just  as  the  earth,  a  fragment  of  the 
world,  attests  the  universe.  We  cannot  measure  the 
vast  orbit  of  the  Divine  thought  of  which  we  are  but 
an  atom  as  small  as  God  is  great ;  but  we  can  feel  its 
vastness,  we  can  kneel,  adore,  and  wait.  Men  ever' 
mislead  themselves  in  science  by  not  perceiving  that 
all  things  on  their  globe  are  related  and  co-ordinated 
to  the  general  evolution,  to  a  constant  movement  and 
production  which  bring  with  them,  necessarily,  both  ad- 
vancement and  an  End.  Man  himself  is  not  a  finished  t'« 
creation  ;  if  he  were,  God  would  not  Be." 

*'  How  is  it  that  in  th}^  short  life  thou  hast  found  the 
time  to  learn  so  many  thmgs  ?  "  said  the  young  girl. 

"  I  remember,"  he  replied. 

"  Thou  art  nobler  than  all  else  I  see."  • 

"  We  are  the  noblest  of  God's  great  works.     Has  He 


24  Seraphita. 

not  given  us  the  faculty  of  reflecting  on  Nature ;   of  * 
gathering   it  within   us   bj  thought ;    of  making  it   a 
footstool  and  stepping-stone  from  and  by  which  to  rise  ' 
to  Him?     We  love  according   to   the   greater  or   the  1 
lesser  portion  of  heaven  our  souls  contain.     But   do 
not  be  unjust,  Minna ;  behold  the  magnificence  spread  | 
before  you.     Ocean  expands  at  yonv  feet  like  a  carpet ; 
the  mountains  resemble  amphitheatres ;  heaven's  ether 
is  above  them  like  the  arching  folds  of  a  stage  curtain. 
/  Here  we  may  breathe  the  thoughts  of  God,  as  it  were 

'  t  like  a  perfume.  See !  the  angvy  billows  which  engulf 
the  ships  laden  with  men  seem  to  us,  where  we  are, 
mere  bubbles  ;  and  if  we  raise  our  e3'es  and  look  above, 
all  there  is  blue.     Behold  that  diadem  of  stars  !     Here 

.  the  tints  of  earthl}^  impressions  disappear ;  standing 
on  this  nature  rarefied  by  space  do  yon  not  feel  within 
3'ou  something  deeper  far  than  mind,  grander  than 
.enthusiasm,  of  greater  energy  than  will?  Are  you 
not  conscious  of  emotions  whose  interpretation  is  no 
longer  in  us?  Do  you  not  feel  jour  pinions?  Let 
us  praj'." 

Seraphitus  knelt  down  and  crossed  his  hands  upon 
his  breast,  while  Minna  fell,  weeping,  on  her  knees. 
Thus  the}'  remained  for  a  time,  while  the  azure  dome 
above  their  heads  grew  larger  and  strong  rays  of  light 
enveloped  them  without  their  knowledge. 

' '  Why  dost  thou  not  weep  when  I  weep  ?  "  said 
Minna,  in  a  broken  voice. 

J  j     "  They  who  are  all  spirit  do  not  weep,"  replied  Sera- 
phitus rising  ;  "  Why  should  I  weep?     1  see  no  longer 


Seraphita.  26 

human  wretchedness.  Here,  Good  appears  in  all  its 
majesty.  There,  beneath  us,  I  hear  the  supplications 
and  the  wailings  of  that  harp  of  sorrows  which  vibrates 
in  the  hands  of  captive  souls.  Here,  I  listen  to  the 
choir  of  harps  harmonious.  There,  below,  is  hope,  the 
glorious  inception  of  faith  ;  but  here  is  faith  —  it  reigns, 
hope  realized !  " 

' '  You  will  never  love  me  ;  I  am  too  imperfect ;  you 
disdain  me,"  said  the  young  girl. 

"  Minna,  the  violet  hidden  at  the  feet  of  the  oak 
whispers  to  itself :  '  The  sun  does  not  love  me ;  he 
comes  not.'  The  sun  says :  '  If  my  rays  shine  upon 
her  she  will  perish,  poor  flower.'  Friend  of  the  flower,  he 
sends  his  beams  through  the  oak  leaves,  he  veils,  he  tem- 
pers them,  and  thus  the}-  color  the  petals  of  his  beloved. 
I  have  not  veils  enough,  I  fear  lest  j'ou  see  me  too 
closely ;  you  would  tremble  if  j'ou  knew  me  better. 
Listen  :  I  have  no  taste  for  earthly  fruits.  Your  joys, 
I  know  them  all  too  well,  and,  like  the  sated  emperors 
of  pagan  Rome,  I  have  reached  disgust  of  all  things ; 
Jl  I  have  received  the  gift  of  vision.  Leave  me  !  abandon 
me!"  he  murmured,  sorrowfully'. 

Seraphitus  turned  and  seated  himself  on  a  projecting 
rock,  dropping  his  head  upon  his  breast. 

"  Wh}'  do  you  drive  me  to  despair?  "  said  Minna. 

"Go,  go  I  "  cried  Seraphitus,  "I  have  nothing  that 
you  want  of  me.  Your  love  is  too  earthly  for  my  love. 
Why  do  30U  not  love  Wilfrid?  Wilfrid  is  a  man,  tested 
by  passions ;  he  would  clasp  you  in  his  vigorous  arms 
and  make  you  feel  a  hand  both  broad  and  strong.     His 


26  Seraphita. 

hair  is  black,  his  eyes  are  full  of  human  thoughts,  his 
heart  pours  lava  in  every  word  he  utters  ;  he  could  kill 
you  with  caresses.  Let  him  be  your  beloved,  your 
husband  !     Yes,  thine  be  Wilfrid  !  " 

Minna  wept  aloud. 

' '  Dare  you  say  that  you  do  not  love  him  ?  "  he  went 
on,  in  a  voice  which  pierced  her  like  a  dagger. 

"  Have  mere}',  have  mere}',  my  Seraphitus  !  " 

' '  Love  him,  poor  child  of  Earth  to  which  thy  destiny 
has  indissolubly  bound  thee,"  said  the  strange  being, 
beckoning  Minna  by  a  gesture,  and  forcing  her  to  the 
edge  of  the  sseter,  whence  he  pointed  downward  to  a 
scene  that  might  well  inspire  a  young  girl  full  of 
enthusiasm  with  the  fancj'  that  she  stood  above  this 
earth. 

' '  I  longed  for  a  companion  to  the  kingdom  of  Light ; 
I  wished  to  show  3'ou  that  morsel  of  mud,  I  find  3'ou 
bound  to  it.  Farewell.  Remain  on  earth  ;  enjo}'  through 
the  senses ;  obey  3'our  nature ;  turn  pale  with  pallid 
men ;  blush  with  women  ;  sport  with  children  ;  pray 
with  the  guilt}' ;  raise  your  ej'es  to  heaven  when  sor- 
rows overtake  you  ;  tremble,  hope,  throb  in  all  3'our 
pulses  ;  30U  will  have  a  companion  ;  30U  can  laugh  and 
weep,  and  give  and  receive.  I,  —  I  am  an  exile,  far  from 
heaven ;  a  monster,  far  from  earth.  I  live  of  m3'self 
and  by  myself.  I  feel  b3'  the  spirit ;  I  breathe  through 
m}'  brow ;  I  see  by  thought ;  I  die  of  impatience  and 
of  longing.  No  one  here  below  can  fulfil  m}-  desires  or 
calm  m}-  griefs.  I  have  forgotten  how  to  weep.  I  am 
alone.     I  resign  m3-self,  and  I  wait." 


Seraphita.  27 

Seraphitus  looked  at  the  flowery  mound  on  which  he 
had  seated  Minna ;  then  he  turned  and  faced  the 
frowning  heights,  whose  pinnacles  were  wrapped  in 
clouds ;  to  them  he  cast,  unspoken,  the  remainder  of 
his  thoughts. 

"Minna,  do  j'ou  hear  those  delightful  strains?"  he 
said  after  a  pause,  with  the  voice  of  a  dove,  for  the 
eagle's  cry  was  hushed  ;  "  it  is  like  the  music  of  those 
Eolian  harps  your  poets  hang  in  forests  and  on  the 
mountains.  Do  you  see  the  shadowy  figures  passing 
among  the  clouds,  the  winged  feet  of  those  who  are 
making  ready  the  gifts  of  heaven  ?  The}-  bring  refresh- 
ment to  the  soul ;  the  skies  are  about  to  open  and  shed 
the  flowers  of  spring  upon  the  earth.  See,  a  gleam  is 
darting  from  the  pole.  Let  us  fly,  let  us  fly !  It  is 
time  we  go  !  " 

In  a  moment  their  skees  were  re  fastened,  and  the 
pair  descended  the  Falberg  b}'  the  steep  slopes  which 
join  the  mountain  to  the  valleys  of  the  Sieg.  Miracu- 
lous perception  guided  their  course,  or,  to  speak  more 
properly,  their  flight.  "When  fissures  covered  with 
snow  intercepted  them,  Seraphitus  caught  Minna  in 
his  arms  and  darted  with  rapid  motion,  lightl}'  as  a 
bird,  over  the  crumbling  causeways  of  the  abj'ss. 
Sometimes,  while  propelling  his  companion,  he  devi- 
ated to  the  right  or  left  to  avoid  a  precipice,  a  tree,  a 
projecting  rock,  which  he  seemed  to  see  beneath  the 
snow,  as  an  old  sailor,  familiar  with  the  ocean,  discerns 
the  hidden  reefs  by  the  color,  the  trend,  or  the  eddying 
of  the  water.     When   they  reached  the   paths   of  the 


28  Seraphita. 

Siegdahlen,  where  they  could  fearlessly  follow  a 
straight  line  to  regain  the  ice  of  the  fiord,  Seraphitus 
stopped  Minna. 

"  You  have  nothing  to  say  to  me?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  thought  you  would  rather  think  alone,"  she  an- 
swered respectfully. 

"Let  us  hasten,  Minette ;  it  is  almost  night,"  he 
said. 

Minna  quivered  as  she  heard  the  voice,  now  so 
changed,  of  her  guide, — a  pure  voice,  like  that  of  a 
young  girl,  which  dissolved  the  fantastic  dream  through 
which  she  had  been  passing.  Seraphitus  seemed  to  be 
laying  aside  his  male  force  and  the  too  keen  intellect 
that  flamed  from  his  eyes.  Presentl}^  the  charming  pair 
glided  across  the  fiord  and  reached  the  snow-field  which 
divides  the  shore  from  the  first  range  of  houses ;  then, 
hurrying  forward  as  daj'light  faded,  the}'  sprang  up 
the  hill  toward  the  parsonage,  as  though  they  were 
mounting  the  steps  of  a  great  staircase. 

"  My  father  must  be  anxious,"  said  Minna. 

"No,"  answered  Seraphitus. 

As  he  spoke  the  couple  reached  the  porch  of  the 
humble  dwelling  where  Monsieur  Becker,  the  pastor  of 
Jarvis,  sat  reading  while  awaiting  his  daughter  for  the 
evening  meal. 

"Dear  Monsieur  Becker,"  said  Seraphitus,  "  I  have 
brought  Minna  back  to  you  safe  and  sound." 

"Thank  you,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  old  man,  lay- 
ing his  spectacles  on  his  book;  "you  must  be  very 
tired." 


Seraphita.  29 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Minna,  and  as  she  spoke  she  felt  the 
soft  breath  of  her  companion  on  her  brow. 

"  Dear  heart,  will  you  come  day  after  to-morrow 
evening  and  take  tea  with  me  ?  " 

"Gladly,  dear." 

"  Monsieur  Becker,  yon  will  bring  her,  will  you 
not?" 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle." 

Seraphitus  inclined  his  head  with  a  pretty  gesture, 
and  bowed  to  the  old  pastor  as  he  left  the  house.  A 
few  moments  later  he  reached  the  great  courtA-ard  of 
the  Swedish  villa.  An  old  servant,  over  eight}-  j-ears 
of  age,  appeared  in  the  portico  bearing  a  lantern. 
Seraphitus  slipped  off  his  snow-shoes  with  the  graceful 
dexterity  of  a  woman,  then  darting  into  the  salon  he 
fell  exhausted  and  motionless  on  a  wide  divan  covered 
with  furs. 

' '  What  will  you  take  ?  "  asked  the  old  man,  lighting 
the  immensely  tall  wax-candles  that  are  used  in 
Norway. 

"  Nothing,  David,  I  am  too  weary." 

Seraphitus  unfastened  his  pelisse  lined  with  sable, 
threw  it  over  him,  and  fell  asleep.  The  old  servant 
stood  for  several  minutes  gazing  with  loving  ej'es  at  the 
singular  being  before  him,  whose  sex  it  would  have 
been  difficult  for  any  one  at  that  moment  to  determine. 
Wrapped  as  he  was  in  a  formless  garment,  which  re- 
sembled equally  a  woman's  robe  and  a  man's  mantle, 
it  was  impossible  not  to  fancy  that  the  slender  feet 
which  hung  at  the  side  of  the  couch  were  those  of  % 


30  Seraphita. 

woman,  and  equally  impossible  not  to  note  how  the 
forehead  and  the  outlines  of  the  head  gave  evidence  of 
power  brought  to  its  highest  pitch. 

"  She  suffers,  and  she  will  not  tell  me,"  thought  the 
old  man.  "  She  is  dying,  like  a  flower  wilted  by  the 
burning  sun." 

And  the  old  man  wept. 


Seraphita.  31 


n. 

SERAPHITA. 

Later  in  the  evening  David  re-entered  the  salon. 

"  I  know  who  it  is  you  have  come  to  announce," 
said  Seraphita  in  a  sleepy  voice.  "  Wilfrid  may 
enter." 

Hearing  these  words  a  man  suddenl3'  presented  him- 
self, crossed  the  room  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

"  My  dear  Seraphita,  are  you  ill  ?"  he  said.  "  You 
look  paler  than  usual." 

She  turned  slowly  towards  him,  tossing  back  her 
hair  like  a  pretty  woman  whose  aching  head  leaves  her 
no  strength  even  for  complaint. 

"  I  was  foolish  enough  to  cross  the  fiord  with  Minna," 
she  said.     "We  ascended  the  Falberg." 

"Do  3'ou  mean  to  kill  yourself?"  he  said  with  a 
lover's  terror. 

"  No,  my  good  Wilfrid ;  I  took  the  greatest  care  of 
your  Minna." 

Wilfrid  struck  his  hand  violently  on  a  table,  rose 
»  hastily,  and  made  several  steps  towards  the  door  with 
;  an  exclamation  full  of  pain ;  then  he  returned  and 
seemed  about  to  remonstrate. 

"Why  this  disturbance  if  you  think  me  ill?"  she 
said. 


32  Seraphita. 

"  Forgive  me,  have  mercy  !  "  he  cried,  kneeling  be- 
side her.  "  Speak  to  me  harshly  if  you  will ;  exact  all 
that  the  cruel  fancies  of  a  woman  lead  yoM  to  imagine 
I  least  can  bear  ;  but  oh,  my  beloved,  do  not  doubt  my 
love.  You  take  Minna  like  an  axe  to  hew  me  down. 
Have  mercy !  " 

"  Why  do  3"ou  say  these  things,  my  friend,  when  you 
know  that  they  are  useless  ?  "  she  replied,  with  a  look 
which  grew  in  the  end  so  soft  that  Wilfrid  ceased  to 
behold  her  eyes,  but  saw  in  their  place  a  fluid  light, 
the  shimmer  of  which  was  like  the  last  vibrations  of  an 
Italian  song. 

"  Ah  !  no  man  dies  of  anguish  !"  he  murmured. 

"  You  are  suffering?"  she  said  in  a  voice  whose  into- 
nations produced  upon  his  heart  the  same  effect  as  that 
of  her  look.     "  Would  I  could  help  jovl  !  " 

"  Love  me  as  I  love  3'ou." 

"  Poor  Minna !  "  she  replied. 

"  Why  am  I  unarmed  !  "  exclaimed  Wilfrid,  violently. 

"  You  are  out  of  temper,"  said  Seraphita,  smiling. 
"  Come,  have  I  not  spoken  to  j'ou  like  those  Parisian 
women  whose  loves  you  tell  of  ?  " 

Wilfrid  sat  down,  crossed  his  arms,  and  looked 
gloomilj'  at  Seraphita.  "  I  forgive  you,"  he  said  ;  "for 
3'ou  know  not  what  j'ou  do." 

"You  mistake,"  she  replied;    "every  woman  from  ff 
the  days  of  Eve  does  good  and  evil  knowingl}'."  IJ 

"  I  believe  it ;  "  he  said. 

' '  I  am  sure  of  it,  Wilfrid.  Our  instinct  is  precisel}'  thai 
which  makes  us  perfect.   What  you  men  learn,  we  feel."  f  f 


Seraphita.  33 

*'  Wh}-,  then,  do  you  not  feel  how  much  I  love  you?" 

"  Because  a'Ou  do  not  love  me." 

"Good  God!" 

"If  you  did,  would  j-ou  complain  of  your  own 
sufferinsrs?  " 

"  You  are  terrible  to-night,  Seraphita.  You  are  a 
demon." 

"No,  but  I  am  gifted  with  the  faculty  of  compre- 
hending, and  it  is  awful.  Wilfrid,  sorrow  is  a  lamp 
which  illumines  life." 

' '  Why  did  you  ascend  the  Falberg  ?  " 

"  Minna  will  tell  3"ou.  I  am  too  weary  to  talk.  You 
must  talk  to  me,  —  you  who  know  so  much,  who  have 
learned  all  things  and  forgotten  nothing  ;  j'ou  who  have 
passed  through  ever}-  social  test.  Talk  to  me,  amuse 
me,  I  am  listening." 

"  What  can  I  tell  you  that  you  do  not  know  ?  Besides, 
the  request  is  ironical.  You  allow  yourself  no  inter- 
course with  social  life  ;  you  trample  on  its  conventions, 
its  laws,  its  customs,  sentiments,  and  sciences  ;  yoxx  re- 
duce them  all  to  the  proportions  such  things  take  when 
viewed  by  you  be3'ond  this  universe." 

"  Therefore  you  see,  my  friend,  that  I  am  not  a 
woman.  You  do  wrong  to  love  me.  What !  am  I  to 
leave  the  ethereal  regions  of  my  pretended  strength, 
make  myself  humbly  small,  cringe  like  the  hapless 
females  of  all  species,  that  you  may  lift  me  up?  and 
then,  when  I,  helpless  and  broken,  ask  you  for  help, 
when  I  need  j'our  arm,  you  will  repulse  me !  No,  we 
can  never  come  to  terms." 

3 


34  Seraphita. 

"  You  are  more  maliciously  unkind  to-night  than  I 
have  ever  known  you." 

"Unkind!"  she  said,  with  a  look  which  seemed  to 
blend  all  feelings  into  one  celestial  emotion,  "  no,  I  am 
ill,  I  suffer,  that  is  all.  Leave  me,  my  friend  ;  it  is 
your  manly  right.  We  women  should  ever  please  you, 
entertain  you,  be  gay  in  your  presence  and  have  na 
whims  save  those  that  amuse  you.  Come,  what  shall 
I  do  for  you,  friend?  Shall  I  sing,  shall  I  dance, 
though  weariness  deprives  me  of  the  use  of  voice  and 
limbs?  —  Ah!  gentlemen,  be  we  on  our  deathbeds,  we 
j'et  must  smile  to  please  you ;  you  call  that,  methinks, 
your  right.  Poor  women !  I  pit}-  them.  Tell  me,  j'ou 
who  abandon  them  when  they  grow  old,  is  it  because 
the}'  have  neither  hearts  nor  souls?  Wilfred,  I  am 
a  hundred  years  old ;  leave  me !  leave  me !  go  ta 
Minna !  " 

' '  Oh,  my  eternal  love !  " 

"  Do  you  know  the  meaning  of  eternity?  Be  silent, 
Wilfrid.  You  desire  me,  but  you  do  not  love  me. 
Tell  me,  do  I  not  seem  to  you  like  those  coquettish 
Parisian  women?" 

"Certainl}^  I  no  longer  find  j'ou  the  pure  celestial 
maiden  I  first  saw  in  the  church  of  Jarvis." 

At  these  words  Seraphita  passed  her  hands  across 
her  brow,  and  when  she  removed  them  Wilfrid  was 
amazed  at  the  saintly  expression  that  overspread  her 
face. 

"  You  are  right,  my  friend,"  she  said  ;  "I  do  wrong 
whenever  I  set  my  feet  upon  your  earth." 


Seraphita.  35 

"Oh,  Seraphita,  be  my  star!  stay  where  yo\x  caa 
ever  bless  me  with  that  clear  light ! " 

As  he  spoke,  he  stretched  forth  his  hand  to  take  that 
of  the  young  girl,  but  she  withdrew  it,  neither  disdain- 
fully nor  in  anger.  Wilfrid  rose  abruptly  and  walked 
to  the  window  that  she  might  not  see  the  tears  that  rose 
to  his  eyes. 

"  Why  do  3'ou  weep?"  she  said.  "You  are  not  a 
child,  Wilfrid.  Come  back  to  me.  I  wish  it.  You 
are  annoyed  if  I  show  just  displeasure.  You  see  that 
I  am  fatigued  and  ill,  yet  you  force  me  to  think  and 
speak,  and  listen  to  persuasions  and  ideas  that  wearj' 
me.  If  3"ou  had  anj'  real  perception  of  my  nature,  yon 
would  have  made  some  music,  you  would  have  lulled  my 
feelings  —  but  no,  you  love  me  for  yourself  and  not  for 
myself. " 

The  storm  which  convulsed  the  young  man's  heart 
calmed  down  at  these  words.  He  slowly  approached 
her,  letting  his  ej'es  take  in  the  seductive  creature 
who  lay  exhausted  before  him,  her  head  resting  in  her 
hand  and  her  elbow  on  the  couch. 

"  You  think  that  I  do  not  love  you,"  she  resumed. 
"You  are  mistaken.  Listen  to  me,  Wilfrid.  You  are 
beginning  to  know  much ;  you  have  suflfered  much. 
Let  me  explain  jour  thoughts  to  3'ou.  You  wished  to 
take  my  hand  just  now ;  "  she  rose  to  a  sitting  post- 
ure, and  her  graceful  motions  seemed  to  emit  light. 
"  When  a  3'oung  girl  allows  her  hand  to  be  taken  it  is 
as  though  she  made  a  promise,  is  it  not?  and  ought  she 
not  to  fulfil  it?     You  well  know  that  I  cannot  be  yours. 


36  SerapTiita. 

A/Two  sentiments  divide  and  inspire  the  love  of  all  the 
//  women  of  the  earth.  Either  they  devote  themselves  to 
suffering,  degraded,  and  criminal  beings  whom  they  de- 
sire to  console,  uplift,  redeem ;  or  they  give  themselves 
to  superior  men,  sublime  and  strong,  whom  they  adore 
and  seek  to  comprehend,  and  by  whom  they  are  often 
annihilated.  You  have  been  degraded,  though  now  you 
are  purified  by  the  fires  of  repentance,  and  to-day  you 
are  once  more  noble ;  but  I  know  myself  too  feeble 
to  be  your  equal,  and  too  religious  to  bow  before  any 
power  but  that  On  High.  I  may  refer  thus  to  your 
life,  my  friend,  for  we  are  in  the  North,  among  the 
clouds,  where  all  things  are  abstractions." 

"  You  stab  me,  Seraphita,  when  you  speak  like  this. 
It  wounds  me  to  hear  j'ou  apply  the  dreadful  knowledge 
with  which  you  strip  from  all  things  human  the  proper- 
ties that  time  and  space  and  form  have  given  them, 
and  consider  them  mathematically  in  the  abstract,  as 
geometry  treats  substances  fi*om  which  it  extracts 
solidity." 

"  Well,  I  will  respect  your  wishes,  Wilfrid.  Let  the 
subject  drop.  Tell  me  what  you  think  of  this  bearskin 
rug  which  my  poor  David  has  spread  out." 

"  It  is  very  handsome." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  me  wear  this  doucha  grekaf 

She  pointed  to  a  pelisse  made  of  cashmere  and  lined 
with  the  skin  of  the  black  fox,  —  the  name  she  gave  it 
signifying  "warm  to  the  soul." 

"Do  you  believe  that  any  sovereign  has  a  fur  that 
tan  equal  it?"  she  asked- 


Seraphita.  37 

"  It  is  worthy  of  her  who  wears  it." 

"  And  whom  you  think  beautiful?  " 

"  Human  words  do  not  apply  to  her.  Heart  to  heart 
is  the  onlj-  language  I  can  use." 

"  Wilfred,  you  are  kind  to  soothe  my  griefs  with  such 
sweet  words  —  which  you  have  said  to  others." 

"Farewell!" 

"  Stay.  I  love  both  you  and  Minna,  believe  me.  To 
me  you  two  are  as  one  being.  United  thus  you  can  be 
my  brother  or,  if  you  will,  my  sister.  Marry  her ;  let 
me  see  3'ou  both  happy  before  I  leave  this  world  of  trial 
and  of  pain.  My  God  !  the  simplest  of  women  obtain 
what  they  ask  of  a  lover ;  they  whisper  '  Hush ! '  and 
he  is  silent;  'Die'  and  he  dies;  'Love  me  afar'  and 
he  sta^-s  at  a  distance,  like  courtiers  before  a  king ! 
All  I  desire  is  to  see  you  happy,  and  you  refuse  me ! 
Am  I  then  powerless?  —  Wilfred,  listen,  come  nearer 
to  me.  Yes,  I  should  grieve  to  see  you  marry  Minna 
but  —  when  I  am  here  no  longer,  then  —  promise  me  to 
marry  her ;  heaven  destined  you  for  each  other." 

"  I  listen  to  j'ou  with  fascination,  Seraphita.  Your 
words  are  incomprehensible,  but  they  charm  me.  What 
is  it  3'ou  mean  to  say  ?  " 

"  You  are  right ;  I  forget  to  be  foolish,  —  to  be  the 
poor  creature  whose  weaknesses  gratify  yon.  I  torment 
you,  Wilfrid.  You  came  to  these  Northern  lands  for 
rest,  3-ou,  worn-out  by  the  impetuous  struggle  of  genius 
unrecognized,  you,  weary  with  the  patient  toils  of 
science,  you,  who  well-nigh  dyed  your  hands  in  crime 
and  wore  the  fetters  of  human  justice  —  " 


38  SerapMta. 

Wilfred  dropped  speechless  on  the  carpet.  Seraphita 
breathed  softly  on  his  forehead,  and  in  a  moment  he 
fell  asleep  at  her  feet. 

"  Sleep !  rest !  "  she  said,  rising. 

She  passed  her  hands  over  Wilfrid's  brow;  then 
the  following  sentences  escaped  her  lips,  one  bj-one,  — 
all  different  in  tone  and  accent,  but  all  melodious, 
full  of  a  Goodness  that  seemed  to  emanate  from  her 
head  in  vaporous  waves,  like  the  gleams  the  goddess 
chastel}'  la^'s  upon  End3'mion  sleeping. 

"  I  cannot  show  myself  such  as  I  am  to  thee,  dear 
Wilfrid,  —  to  thee  who  art  strong. 

"The  hour  is  come;  the  hour  when  the  effulgent 
lights  of  the  future  cast  their  reflections  backward  on 
the  soul ;  the  hour  when  the  soul  awakes  into  freedom. 

"  Now  am  I  permitted  to  tell  thee  how  I  love  thee. 
Dost  thou  not  see  the  nature  of  m}'  love,  a  love  without 
self-interest ;  a  sentiment  full  of  thee,  thee  only  ;  a  love 
which  follows  thee  into  the  future  to  light  that  future 
for  thee  —  for  it  is  the  one  True  Light.  Canst  thou 
now  conceive  with  what  ardor  I  would  have  thee  leave 
this  life  which  weighs  thee  down,  and  behold  thee 
nearer  than  thou  art  to  that  world  where  Love  is  never- 
failing?  Can  it  be  aught  but  suffering  to  love  for  one 
life  only  ?  Hast  thou  not  felt  a  thirst  for  the  eternal 
love  ?  Dost  thou  not  feel  the  bliss  to  which  a  creature 
rises  when,  with  twin-soul,  it  loves  the  Being  who  be- 
trays not  love.  Him  before  whom  we  kneel  in  adoration? 

"  Would  I  had  wings  to  cover  thee,  Wilfred  ;  power  to 
give  thee  strength  to  enter  now  into  that  world  where 


SerapJiita.  39 

all  the  purest  joys  of  purest  earthly  attachments  are  but 
shadows  in  the  Light  that  shines,  unceasing,  to  illumine 
and  rejoice  all  hearts. 

"  Forgive  a  friendly  soul  for  showing  thee  the  picture 
of  thy  sins,  in  the  charitable  hope  of  soothing  the  sharp 
pangs  of  thy  remorse.  Listen  to  the  pardoning  choir ; 
refresh  thy  soul  in  the  dawn  now  rising  for  thee  be- 
yond the  night  of  death.  Yes,  thy  life,  thy  true  life 
is  there ! 

"  May  my  words  now  reach  thee  clothed  in  the  glorious 
forms  of  dreams;  may  they  deck  themselves  with 
images  glowing  and  radiant  as  they  hover  round  you. 
Rise,  rise,  to  the  height  where  men  can  see  themselves 
distinctly,  pressed  together  though  they  be  like  grains 
of  sand  upon  a  sea-shore.  Humanity  rolls  out  like  a 
many-colored  ribbon.  See  the  diverse  shades  of  that 
flower  of  the  celestial  gardens.  Behold  the  beings  who 
lack  intelligence,  those  who  begin  to  receive  it,  those 
who  have  passed  through  trials,  those  who  love,  those 
who  follow  wisdom  and  aspire  to  the  regions  of 
Light ! 

"  Canst  thou  comprehend,  through  this  thought  made 
visible,  the  destiny  of  humanity? — whence  it  came, 
whither  it  goeth?  Continue  steadfast  in  the  Path. 
Reaching  the  end  of  thy  journey  thou  shalt  hear  the 
clarions  of  omnipotence  sounding  the  cries  of  victory  in 
chords  of  which  a  single  one  would  shake  the  earth,  but 
which  are  lost  in  the  spaces  of  a  world  that  hath  neither 
east  nor  west. 

"  Canst  thou  comprehend,  my  poor  beloved  Tried-one, 


40  Seraphita. 

that  unless  the  torpor  and  the  veils  of  sleep  had  wrapped 
thee,  such  sights  would  rend  and  bear  away  thy  mind 
as  the  whirlwinds  rend  and  carry  into  space  the  feeble 
sails,  depriving  thee  forever  of  thy  reason  ?  Dost  thou 
understand  that  the  Soul  itself,  raised  to  its  utmost 
power  can  scarcely  endure  in  dreams  the  burning  com- 
munications of  the  Spirit  ? 

"  Speed  thy  way  through  the  luminous  spheres  ;  behold, 
admire,  hasten !  Flying  thus  thou  canst  pause  or  ad- 
vance without  weariness.  Like  other  men,  thou  wouldst 
fain  be  plunged  forever  in  these  spheres  of  light  and 
perfume  where  now  thou  art,  free  of  thy  swooning  body, 
and  where  thy  thought  alone  has  utterance.  FI3' !  enjoj^ 
for  a  fleeting  moment  the  wings  thou  shalt  surely  win 
when  Love  has  grown  so  perfect  in  thee  that  thou  hast 
no  senses  left ;  when  thy  whole  being  is  all  mind,  all 
love.  The  higher  th}'  flight  the  less  canst  thou  see  the 
ab^'sses.  There  are  none  in  heaven.  Look  at  the 
friend  who  speaks  to  thee ;  she  who  holds  thee  above 
this  earth  in  which  are  all  abysses.  Look,  behold, 
contemplate  me  j'et  a  moment  longer,  for  never  again 
wilt  thou  see  me,  save  imperfectly  as  the  pale  twilight 
of  this  world  may  show  me  to  thee." 

Seraphita  stood  erect,  her  head  with  floating  hair 
inclining  gentl}'  forward,  in  that  aerial  attitude  which 
great  painters  give  to  messengers  from  heaven ;  the 
folds  of  her  raiment  fell  with  the  same  unspeakable  grace 
which  holds  an  artist  —  the  man  who  translates  all  things 
into  sentiment — before  the  exquisite  well-known  lines 
of  Polyhymnia's  veil.      Then  she  stretched  forth  her 


Seraphita.  41 

hand.  Wilfrid  rose.  When  he  looked  at  Seraphita  she 
was  lying  on  the  bear's-skin,  her  head  resting  on  her 
hand,  her  face  calm,  her  eyes  brilliant.  Wilfrid  gazed 
at  her  silently  ;  bnt  his  face  betrayed  a  deferential  fear 
in  its  almost  timid  expression. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  he  said  at  last,  as  though  he  were  an- 
swering- some  question  ;  "we  are  separated  by  worlds. 
I  resign  myself ;  I  can  only  adore  you.  But  what  will 
become  of  me,  poor  and  alone  !  " 

"  Wilfrid,  you  have  Minna." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Do  not  be  so  disdainful:  woman  understands  all 
things  through  love ;  what  she  does  not  understand 
she  feels ;  what  she  does  not  feel  she  sees ;  when  she 
neither  sees,  nor  feels,  nor  understands,  this  angel  of 
earth  divines  to  protect  you,  and  hides  her  protection 
beneath  the  grace  of  love." 

"  Seraphita,  am  I  worthy  to  belong  to  a  woman?  " 

"Ah,  now,"  she  said,  smiling,  "you  are  suddenly 
verj-  modest ;  is  it  a  snare  ?  A  woman  is  always  so 
touched  to  see  her  weakness  glorified.  Well,  come  and 
take  tea  with  me  the  day  after  to-morrow  evening ;  good 
Monsieur  Becker  will  be  here,  and  Minna,  the  purest 
and  most  artless  creature  I  have  known  on  earth. 
Leave  me  now,  my  friend  ;  I  need  to  make  long  prayers 
and  expiate  my  sins." 

' '  You,  can  yon  commit  sin  ?  " 

"  Poor  friend  !  if  we  abuse  our  power,  is  not  that  the 
sin  of  pride?  I  have  been  very  proud  to-day.  Now 
leave  me,  till  to-morrow." 


42  Seraphita. 

"  Till  to-morrow,"  said  Wilfrid  faintly,  casting  a  long 
glance  at  the  being  of  whom  he  desired  to  carry  with 
him  an  ineffaceable  memory. 

Though  he  wished  to  go  far  away,  he  was  held,  as  it 
were,  outside  the  house  for  some  moments,  watching 
the  light  which  shone  from  all  the  windows  of  the 
Swedish  dwelling. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  me?"  he  asked  himself. 
"  No,  she  is  not  a  mere  creature,  but  a  whole  crea- 
tion. Of  her  world,  even  through  veils  and  clouds,  I 
have  caught  echoes  like  the  memory  of  sufferings 
healed,  like  the  dazzling  vertigo  of  dreams  in  which 
we  hear  the  plaints  of  generations  mingling  with  the 
harmonies  of  some  higher  sphere  where  all  is  Light  and 
all  is  Love.  Am  I  awake?  Do  I  still  sleep?  Are 
these  the  e^'es  before  which  the  luminous  space  re- 
treated further  and  further  indefinitely  while  the  eyes 
followed  it?  The  night  is  cold,  yet  my  head  is  fire.  I 
will  go  to  the  parsonage.  With  the  pastor  and  his 
daughter  I  shall  recover  the  balance  of  my  mind." 

But  still  he  did  not  leave  the  spot  whence  his  e^^es 
could  plunge  into  Seraphita's  salon.  The  mysterious 
creature  seemed  to  him  the  radiating  centre  of  a  lumi- 
nous circle  which  formed  an  atmosphere  about  her  wider 
than  that  of  other  beings ;  whoever  entered  it  felt  the 
compelling  influence  of,  as  it  were,  a  vortex  of  daz- 
zUng  light  and  all  consuming  thoughts.  Forced  to 
struggle  against  this  inexplicable  power,  Wilfrid  only 
prevailed  after  strong  efforts  ;  but  when  he  reached  and 
passed  the  inclosing  wall  of  the  courtyard,  he  regained 


Seraphita.  43 

^is  freedom  of  will,  walked  rapidlj-  towards  the  par- 
sonage, and  was  soon  beneath  the  high  wooden  arch 
which  formed  a  sort  of  perist3'le  to  Monsieur  Becker's 
dwelling.  He  opened  the  first  door,  against  which  the 
wind  had  driven  the  snow,  and  knocked  on  the  inner 
one,  saying :  — 

"  Will    you   let   me   spend   the   evening   with  you, 
Monsieur  Becker?" 

"  Yes,"  cried  two  voices,  mingling  their  intonations. 

Entering  the  parlor,  Wilfrid  returned  by  degrees  to 
real  life.  He  bowed  affectionately  to  Minna,  shook 
bands  with  Monsieur  Becker,  and  looked  about  at  the 
picture  of  a  home  which  calmed  the  convulsions  of  his 
physical  nature,  in  which  a  phenomenon  was  taking 
place  analogous  to  that  which  sometimes  seizes  upon 
men  who  have  given  themselves  up  to  protracted  con- 
templations. If  some  strong  thought  bears  upward  on 
phantasmal  wing  a  man  of  learning  or  a  poet,  isolates 
him  from  the  external  circumstances  which  environ  him 
here  below,  and  leads  him  forward  through  illimitable 
regions  where  vast  arrays  of  facts  become  abstractions, 
where  the  greatest  works  of  Nature  are  but  images^ 
then  woe  betide  him  if  a  sudden  noise  strikes  sharply 
on  his  senses  and  calls  his  errant  soul  back  to  its 
prison-house  of  flesh  and  bones.  The  shock  of  the 
reunion  of  these  two  powers,  bod}'  and  mind,  —  one  of 
which  partakes  of  the  unseen  qualities  of  a  thunder- 
bolt, while  the  other  shares  with  sentient  nature  that 
soft  resistant  force  which  defies  destruction,  ff-  this 
shock,  this  struggle,  or,  rather  let  us  say,  this  painful 


44  Seraphita. 

meeting  and  co-mingling,  gives  rise  to  frightful  suffer- 
ings. The  body  receives  back  the  flame  that  consumes 
it ;  the  flame  has  once  more  grasped  its  prey.  This 
fusion,  however,  does  not  take  place  without  convul- 
sions, explosions,  tortures  ;  analogous  and  visible  signs 
of  which  may  be  seen  in  chemistry,  when  two  antago- 
nistic substances  which  science  has  united  separate. 

For  the  last  few  davs  whenever  Wilfrid  entered  Sera- 
phita's  presence  his  body  seemed  to  fall  away  from  him 
into  nothingness.  With  a  single  glance  this  strange 
being  led  him  in  spirit  through  the  spheres  where  medi- 
tation leads  the  learned  man,  pra^'er  the  pious  heart, 
where  vision  transports  the  artist,  and  sleep  the  souls  of 
men,  —  each  and  all  have  their  own  path  to  the  Height, 
their  own  guide  to  reach  it,  their  own  individual  suffer- 
ings in  the  dire  return.  In  that  sphere  alone  all  veils 
are  rent  away,  and  the  revelation,  the  awful  flaming 
certainty  of  an  unknown  world,  of  which  the  soul  brings 
back  mere  fragments  to  this  lower  sphere,  stands  re- 
vealed. To  Wilfrid  one  hour  passed  with  Seraphita 
was  like  the  sought-for  dreams  of  Theriakis,  in  which 
each  knot  of  nerves  becomes  the  centre  of  a  radiating 
delight.  But  he  left  her  bruised  and  wearied  as  some 
young  girl  endeavoring  to  keep  step  with  a  giant. 

The  cold  air,  with  its  stinging  flagellations,  had  begun 
to  still  the  nervous  tremors  which  followed  the  reunion 
of  his  two  natures,  so  powerfully  disunited  for  a  time  ; 
he  was  drawn  towards  the  parsonage,  then  towards 
Minna,  by  the  sight  of  the  every-day  home  life  for  which 
he  thirsted  as  the  wandering  European  thirsts  for  his 


Seraphita.  45, 

native  land  when  nostalgia  seizes  him  amid  the  fairy 
scenes  of  Orient  that  have  seduced  his  senses.  More 
weary  than  he  had  ever  yet  been,  Wilfrid  dropped  into 
a  chair  and  looked  about  him  for  a  time,  like  a  man  who 
awakes  from  sleep.  Monsieur  Becker  and  his  daughter 
accustomed,  perhaps,  to  the  apparent  eccentricity  of 
their  guest,  continued  the  employments  in  which  they 
were  engaged. 

The  parlor  was  ornamented  with  a  collection  of  the 
shells  and  insects  of  Norwa}'.  These  curiosities,  ad- 
mirably aiTanged  on  a  background  of  the  yellow  pine 
which  panelled  the  room,  formed,  as  it  were,  a  rich  tap- 
estry to  which  the  fumes  of  tobacco  had  imparted  a 
mellow  tone.  At  the  further  end  of  the  room,  opposite 
to  the  door,  was  an  immense  wrought-ii'on  stove,  care- 
fully polished  by  the  serving-woman  till  it  shone  like 
burnished  steel.  Seated  in  a  large  tapestried  armchair 
near  the  stove,  before  a  table,  with  his  feet  in  a  species 
of  muff,  Monsieur  Becker  was  reading  a  folio  volume 
which  was  propped  against  a  pile  of  other  books  as  on 
a  desk.  At  his  left  stood  a  jug  of  beer  and  a  glass,  at 
his  right  burned  a  smoky  lamp  fed  by  some  species  of 
fish-oil.  The  pastor  seemed  about  sixty  years  of  age. 
His  face  belonged  to  a  type  often  painted  by  Rembrandt ; 
the  same  small  bright  e3'es,  set  in  wrinkles  and  sur- 
mounted by  thick  gray  eyebrows ;  the  same  white  hair 
escaping  in  snow}'  flakes  from  a  black  velvet  cap ;  the 
same  broad,  bald  brow,  and  a  contour  of  face  which 
the  ample  chin  made  almost  square ;  and  lastly,  the 
same  calm  tranquillity,  which,  to  an  observer,  denoted 


46  Seraphita. 

the  possession  of  some  inward  power,  be  it  the  su- 
premacy  bestowed  by  money,  or  the  magisterial  in- 
fluence of  the  burgomaster,  or  the  consciousness  of  art, 
or  the  cubic  force  of  blissful  ignorance.  This  fine  old 
man,  whose  stout  body  proclaimed  his  vigorous  health, 
was  wrapped  in  a  dressing-gown  of  rough  gray  cloth 
plainly  bound.  Between  his  lips  was  a  meerschaum 
pipe,  from  which,  at  regular  intervals,  he  blew  the 
smoke,  following  with  abstracted  vision  its  fantastic 
wreathings,  —  his  mind  emploj'ed,  no  doubt,  in  assimi- 
lating through  some  meditative  process  the  thoughts  of 
the  author  whose  works  he  was  studying. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  stove  and  near  a  door  which 
communicated  with  the  kitchen  Minna  was  indistinctly 
visible  in  the  haze  of  the  good  man's  smoke,  to  which 
she  was  apparently  accustomed.  Beside  her  on  a  little 
table  were  the  implements  of  household  work,  a  pile  of 
napkins,  and  another  of  socks  waiting  to  be  mended, 
also  a  lamp  like  that  which  shone  on  the  white  page  of 
the  book  in  which  the  pastor  was  absorbed.  Her  fresh 
young  face,  with  its  delicate  outline,  expressed  an  in- 
finite purity  which  harmonized  with  the  candor  of  the 
white  brow  and  the  clear  blue  e^'es.  She  sat  erect, 
turning  slightly  toward  the  lamp  for  better  light,  uncon- 
sciously showing  as  she  did  so  the  beauty  of  her  waist 
and  bust.  She  was  already  dressed  for  the  night  in  a 
.'ong  robe  of  white  cotton  ;  a  cambric  cap,  without  other 
ornament  than  a  frill  of  the  same,  confined  her  hair. 
Though  evidently  plunged  in  some  inward  meditation, 
she    counted    without   a   mistake   the   threads   of  her 


Seraphita.  47 

napkins  or  the  meshes  of  her  socks.  Sitting  thus,  she 
presented  the  most  complete  image,  the  truest  t^'pe, 
of  the  woman  destined  for  terrestrial  labor,  whose 
glance  may  pierce  the  clouds  of  the  sanctuary  while  her 
thought,  humble  and  charitable,  keeps  her  ever  on  the 
level  of  man. 

Wilfrid  had  flung  himself  into  a  chair  between  the 
two  tables  and  was  contemplating  with  a  species  of  in- 
toxication this  picture  full  of  harmony,  to  which  the 
clouds  of  smoke  did  no  despite.  The  single  window 
which  lighted  the  parlor  during  the  fine  weather  was 
now  carefully  closed.  An  old  tapestry,  used  for  a  curtain 
and  fastened  to  a  stick,  hung  before  it  in  heav}'  folds. 
Nothing  in  the  room  was  picturesque,  nothing  bi'illiant ; 
€ver3'thing  denoted  rigorous  simplicity,  true  heartiness,  ^\ 
the  ease  of  unconventional  nature,  and  the  habits  of  a 
domestic  life  which  knew  neither  cares  nor  troubles. 
Many  a  dwelling  is  like  a  dream,  the  sparkle  of  passing 
pleasure  seems  to  hide  some  ruin  beneath  the  cold  smile 
of  luxury ;  but  this  parlor,  sublime  in  reality,  harmo- 
nious in  tone,  diffused  the  patriarchal  ideas  of  a  full 
and  self-contained  existence.  The  silence  was  unbroken 
save  b}^  the  movements  of  the  servant  in  the  kitchen 
engaged  in  preparing  the  supper,  and  by  the  sizzling  of 
the  dried  fish  which  she  was  frying  in  salt  butter  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  the  country. 

"  Will  you  smoke  a  pipe?  "  said  the  pastor,  seizing  a 
moment  when  he  thought  that  Wilfrid  might  Hsten  to  him. 

"  Thank  you,  no,  dear  Monsieur  Becker,"  replied  the 
visitor. 


48  Seraphita. 

*'  You  seem  to  suffer  more  to-day  than  usual,"  said 
Minna,  struck  by  the  feeble  tones  of  the  strangers 
voice. 

"  I  am  always  so  when  I  leave  the  chateau." 

Minna  quivered. 

"  A  strange  being  lives  there,  Monsieur  Becker,"  he 
continued  after  a  pause.  "For  the  six  months  tl^at  I 
have  been  in  this  village  I  have  never  yet  dared  to 
question  you  about  her,  and  even  now  I  do  violence 
to  my  feelings  in  speaking  of  her.  I  began  by  keenly 
regretting  that  my  journey  in  this  country  was  arrested 
by  the  winter  weather  and  that  I  was  forced  to  remain 
here.  But  during  the  last  two  months  chains  have 
been  forged  and  riveted  which  bind  me  irrevocably  to 
Jarvis,  till  now  I  fear  to  end  my  days  here.  You  know 
how  I  first  met  Seraphita,  what  impression  her  look 
and  voice  made  upon  me,  and  how  at  last  I  was  ad- 
mitted to  her  home  where  she  receives  no  one.  From 
the  very  first  day  I  have  longed  to  ask  you  the  history 
of  this  mysterious  being.  On  that  day  began,  for  me, 
a  series  of  enchantments." 

"Enchantments!"  cried  the  pastor  shaking  the 
ashes  of  his  pipe  into  an  earthen-ware  dish  full  of 
sand,  "are  there  enchantments  in  these  days?" 

"  You,  who  are  carefully  studying  at  this  moment 
that  volume  of  the  '  Incantations '  of  Jean  Wier,  will 
surely  understand  the  explanation  of  my  sensations  if 
I  try  to  give  it  to  you,"  replied  Wilfrid.  "  If  we  study 
Nature  attentively  in  its  great  evolutions  as  in  its 
minutest  works,  we  cannot  fail  to  recognize  the  pos- 


Seraphita.  49 

sibility  of  enchantment  —  giving  to  that  word  its  exact 
significance.  Man  does  not  create  forces  ;  he  employs 
the  only  force  that  exists  and  which  includes  all  others 
namely  Motion,  the  breath  incomprehensible  of  the  ( 
sovereign  Maker  of  the  universe.  Species  are  too  )  » 
distinctly  separated  for  the  human  hand  to  mingle 
them.  The  only  miracle  of  which  man  is  capable 
is  done  through  the  conjunction  of  two  antagonistic 
substances.  Gunpowder  for  instance  is  germane  to  a 
thunderbolt.  As  to  calling  forth  a  creation,  and  a 
sudden  one,  all  creation  demands  time,  and  time 
neither  recedes  nor  advances  at  the  word  of  command. 
So,  in  the  world  without  us,  plastic  nature  obe3's 
laws  the  order  and  exercise  of  which  cannot  be  in- 
terfered with  b}'  the  hand  of  man.  But  after  fulfil- 
ling, as  it  were,  the  function  of  Matter,  it  would  be 
unreasonable  not  to  recognize  within  us  the  existence 
of  a  gigantic  power,  the  effects  of  which  are  so  in- 
commensurable that  the  known  generations  of  men 
have  never  yet  been  able  to  classify  them.  I  do  not 
speak  of  man's  faculty  of  abstraction,  of  constraining 
Nature  to  confine  itself  within  the  Word,  —  a  gigantic 
act  on  which  the  common  mind  reflects  as  little  as  it 
does  on  the  nature  of  Motion,  but  which,  nevertheless, 
has  led  the  Indian  theosophists  to  explain  creation  by 
a  word  to  which  they  give  an  inverse  power.  The 
smallest  atom  of  their  subsistence,  namel}',  the  grain 
of  rice,  from  which  a  creation  issues  and  in  which  al- 
ternately creation  again  is  held,  presented  to  their 
minds  so  perfect  an  image  of  the  creative   word,   and 

1 


50  Seraphita. 

of  the  abstractive  word,  that  to  them  it  was  easy  to 
apply  the  same  system  to  the  creation  of  worlds.  The 
majority  of  men  content  themselves  with  the  grain  of 
rice  sown  in  the  first  chapter  of  all  the  Geneses.  Saint 
John,  when  he  said  the  Word  was  God  only  compli- 
cated the  difficulty.  But  the  fructification,  germination, 
and  efflorescence  of  our  ideas  is  of  little  consequence 
if  we  compare  that  property,  shared  by  many  men,  with 
the  wholly  individual  faculty  of  communicating  to  that 
property,  by  some  mysterious  concentration,  forces  that 
are  more  or  less  active,  of  canying  it  up  to  a  third,  a 
ninth,  or  a  twenty-seventh  power,  of  making  it  thus 
fasten  upon  the  masses  and  obtain  magical  results  by 
condensing  the  processes  of  nature. 

"  What  I  mean  by  enchantments,"  continued  Wilfrid 
after  a  moment's  pause,  "  are  those  stupendous  actions 
taking  place  between  two  membranes  in  the  tissue  of 
the  brain.  We  find  in  the  unexplorable  nature  of  the 
Spiritual  World  certain  beings  armed  with  these  won- 
drous faculties,  comparable  only  to  the  terrible  power 
of  certain  gases  in  the  physical  world,  beings  who  com- 
bine with  other  beings,  penetrate  them  as  active  agents, 
and  produce  upon  them  witchcrafts,  charms,  against 
which  these  helpless  slaves  are  wholly  defenceless; 
they  are,  in  fact,  enchanted,  brought  under  subjection, 
reduced  to  a  condition  of  dreadful  vassalage.  Such 
mysterious  beings  overpower  others  with  the  sceptre 
and  the  glory  of  a  superior  nature,  —  acting  upon  them 
at  times  like  the  torpedo  which  electrifies  or  paralyzes 
the  fisherman,  at  other  times  like  a  dose  of  phosphorus 


Seraphita.  51 

which  stimulates  life  and  accelerates  its  propulsion ;  or 
again,  like  opium,  which  puts  to  sleep  corporeal  nature, 
disengages  the  spirit  from  ever}'  bond,  enables  it  to 
float  above  the  world  and  shows  this  earth  to  the 
spiritual  eye  as  through  a  prism,  extracting  from  it  the 
food  most  needed ;  or,  yet  again,  like  catalepsy, 
which  deadens  all  faculties  for  the  sake  of  one  only 
vision.  Miracles,  enchantments,  incantations,  witch- 
crafts, spells,  and  charms,  in  short,  all  those  acts 
improperly  termed  supernatural,  are  only  possible  and 
can  only  be  explained  by  the  despotism  with  which 
some  spirit  compels  us  to  feel  the  effects  of  a  m3-s- 
terious  optic  which  increases,  or  diminishes,  or  exalts 
creation,  moves  within  us  as  it  pleases,  deforms  or 
embellishes  all  things  to  our  eyes,  tears  us  from 
heaven,  or  drags  us  to  hell,  —  two  terms  bv  which 
men  agree  to  express  the  two  extremes  of  joy  and 
misery. 

"These  phenomena  are  within  us,  not  without  us," 
Wilfrid  went  on.  "  The  being  whom  we  call  Seraphita 
seems  to  me  one  of  those  rare  and  terrible  spirits  to 
whom  power  is  given  to  bind  men,  to  crush  nature,  to 
enter  into  participation  of  the  occult  power  of  God. 
The  course  of  her  enchantments  over  me  began  on  that 
first  day,  when  silence  as  to  her  was  imposed  upon  me 
against  my  will.  Each  time  that  I  have  wished  to 
question  you  it  seemed  as  though  I  were  about  to  reveal 
a  secret  of  which  I  ought  to  be  the  incorruptible  guar- 
dian. Whenever  I  have  tried  to  speak,  a  burning  seal 
has  been  laid  upon  my  lips,  and  I  myself  have  become 


52  Seraphita. 

the  involuntary  minister  of  these  raj'steries.  You  see  me 
here  to-night,  for  the  hundredth  time,  bruised,  defeated, 
broken,  after  leaving  the  hallucinating  sphere  which 
surrounds  that  young  girl,  so  gentle,  so  fragile  to  both 
of  you,  but  to  me  the  cruellest  of  magicians  !  Yes,  to 
me  she  is  like  a  sorcerer  holding  in  her  right  hand  the 
invisible  wand  that  moves  the  globe,  and  in  her  left  the 
thunderbolt  that  rends  asunder  all  things  at  her  will. 
No  longer  can  I  look  upon  her  brow  ;  the  light  of  it  ia 
insupportable.  I  skirt  the  borders  of  the  abyss  of  mad- 
ness too  closely  to  be  longer  silent.  I  must  speak.  I 
seize  this  moment,  when  courage  comes  to  me,  to  resist 
the  power  which  drags  me  onward  without  inquiring 
whether  or  not  I  have  the  force  to  follow.  Who  is  she  ? 
Did  you  know  her  young  ?  What  of  her  birth  ?  Had 
she  father  and  mother,  or  was  she  born  of  the  conjunc- 
tion of  ice  and  sun  ?  She  burns  and  3'et  she  freezes ; 
she  shows  herself  and  then  withdraws  ;  she  attracts  me 
and  repulses  me ;  she  brings  me  life,  she  gives  me 
death ;  I  love  her  and  j^et  I  hate  her !  I  cannot  live 
thus ;  let  me  be  wholly  in  heaven  or  in  hell !  " 

Holding  his  refilled  pipe  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other 
the  cover  which  he  forgot  to  replace.  Monsieur  Becker 
listened  to  Wilfrid  with  a  m^-sterious  expression  on  his 
face,  looking  occasionally'  at  his  daughter,  who  seemed 
to  understand  the  man's  language  as  in  harmony  with 
the  strange  being  who  inspired  it.  Wilfrid  was  splendid 
to  behold  at  this  moment,  —  like  Hamlet  listening  to 
the  ghost  of  his  father  as  it  rises  for  him  alone  in  the 
midst  of  the  living. 


Seraphita.  53 

*'  This  is  certainly  the  language  of  a  man  in  love," 
said  the  good  pastor,  innocenth". 

"  In  love  !  "  cried  Wilfrid,  "  3'es,  to  common  minds. 
But,  dear  Monsieur  Becker,  no  words  can  express  the 
frenzy  which  draws  me  to  the  feet  of  that  unearthly 
being." 

"Then  you  do  love  her?  "  said  Minna,  in  a  tone  of 
reproach. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  feel  such  extraordinarj'  agitation 
"when  I  see  her,  and  such  deep  sadness  when  I  see  her 
no  more,  that  in  any  other  man  what  1  feel  would  be 
called  love.  But  that  sentiment  draws  those  who  feel 
it  ardenth'  together,  whereas  between  her  and  me  a 
great  gulf  lies,  whose  icy  coldness  penetrates  my  very 
being  in  her  presence ;  though  the  feeling  dies  awa}' 
when  I  see  her  no  longer.  I  leave  her  in  despair ;  I 
return  to  her  with  ardor,  —  like  men  of  science  who 
seek  a  secret  from  Nature  onlj"  to  be  baffled,  or  like  the 
painter  who  would  fain  put  life  upon  his  canvas  and 
strives  with  all  the  resources  of  his  art  in  the  vain 
attempt." 

"  Monsieur,  all  that  yoxx  say  is  true,"  replied  the 
young  girl,  artlessl}'. 

"  How  can  j-ou  know,  Minna?  "  asked  the  old  pastor. 

"  Ah  !  m}'  father,  had  you  been  with  us  this  morning 
on  the  summit  of  the  Falberg,  had  you  seen  him  pray- 
ing, you  would  not  ask  me  that  question.  You  would 
say,  like  Monsieur  Wilfrid,  when  he  saw  his  Seraphita 
for  the  first  time  in  our  temple,  '  It  is  the  Spirit  of 
Prayer.' " 


54  Seraphita. 

These  words  were  followed  by  a  moment's  silence. 
"Ah,    trul^M"    said    Wilfrid,    "she    has    nothing 
in  common  with  the  creatures  who  grovel  upon  this 

earth." 

"  On  the  Falberg !  "  said  the  old  pastor,  "  how  could 

you  get  there  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Minna;  "the  way  is  like 
a  dream  to  me,  of  which  no  more  than  a  memory 
remains.  Perhaps  I  should  hardly  believe  that  I  had 
been  there  were  it  not  for  this  tangible  proof." 

She  drew  the  flower  from  her  bosom  and  showed  it  ta 
them.  All  three  gazed  at  the  pretty  saxifrage,  which 
was  still  fresh,  and  now  shone  in  the  light  of  the  two 
lamps  like  a  third  luminarj'. 

"  This  is  indeed  supernatural,"  said  the  old  man^ 
astounded  at  the  sight  of  a  flower  blooming  in  winter. 

"A  mystery!"  cried  Wilfrid,  intoxicated  with  its 
perfume. 

"  The  flower  makes  me  giddy,"  said  Minna ;  "  I  fancy 
I  still  hear  that  voice,  —  the  music  of  thought ;  that  I 
still  see  the  light  of  that  look,  which  is  Love." 

"I  implore  you,  my  dear  Monsieur  Becker,  tell  me 
the  history  of  Seraphita,  —  enigmatical  human  flower,  — 
whose  image  is  before  us  in  this  mysterious  bloom." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  the  old  man,  emitting  a  pufl" 
of  smoke,  "  to  explain  the  birth  of  that  being  it  is 
absolutel}'  necessary  that  I  disperse  the  clouds  which 
envelop  the  most  obscure  of  Christian  doctrines.  It  is 
not  easy  to  make  myself  clear  when  speaking  of  that 
incomprehensible   revelation, — the   last   efl'ulgence   of 


Seraphita.  55 

faith  that  has  shone  upon  our  lump  of  mud.  Do  you 
know  Swedenborg?  " 

"B}'  name  only, —of  him,  of  his  books  and  his 
religion  I  know  nothing." 

"Then  I  must  relate  to  you  the  whole  chronicle  of 
Swedenborg." 


56  iSeraphita, 


in. 

SERAPHITA-SERAPHITUS. 

After  a  pause,  during  which  the  pastor  seemed  to 
be  gathering  his  recollections,  he  continued  in  the  fol- 
lowing words :  — 

"  Emmanuel  Swedenborg  was  born  at  Upsala  in  Sweden, 
in  the  month  of  Januar}',  1688,  according  to  various 
authors,  —  in  1689,  according  to  his  epitaph.  His  father 
was  Bishop  of  Skara.  Swedenborg  lived  eightj'-five 
years  ;  his  death  occurred  in  London,  March  29,  1772. 
I  use  that  term  to  conve}'  the  idea  of  a  simple  change 
of  state.  According  to  his  disciples,  Swedenborg  was 
seen  at  Jarvis  and  in  Paris  after  that  date.  Allow  me, 
mj'  dear  Monsieur  Wilfrid,"  said  Monsieur  Becker, 
making  a  gesture  to  prevent  all  interruption,  "  I  relate 
these  facts  without  either  affirming  or  den\'ing  them. 
Listen ;  afterwards  you  can  think  and  say  what  you 
like.  I  will  inform  you  when  I  judge,  criticise,  and 
discuss  these  doctrines,  so  as  to  keep  clearly  in  view  my 
own  intellectual  neutrality  between  Him  and  Reason. 

"  The  life  of  Swedenborg  was  di^^ded  into  two  parts," 
continued  the  pastor.  ' '  From  1 688  to  1 745  Baron  Eman- 
uel Swedenborg  appeared  in  the  world  as  a  man  of  vast 
learning,  esteemed  and  cherished  for  his  virtues,  always 
irreproachable  and  constantly  useful.     While  fulfilling 


SerapJiita.  57 

high  public  functions  in  Sweden,  he  published,  between 
1709  and  1740,  several  important  works  on  mineralog}-, 
physics,  mathematics,  and  astronomy,  which  enlight- 
ened the  world  of  learning.  He  originated  a  method  of 
building  docks  suitable  for  the  reception  of  large  vessels, 
and  he  wrote  many  treatises  on  various  important  ques- 
tions, such  as  the  rise  of  tides,  the  theory  of  the  magnet 
and  its  qualities,  the  motion  and  position  of  the  earth 
and  planets,  and,  while  Assessor  in  the  Royal  Col- 
lege of  Mines,  on  the  proper  system  of  working  salt 
mines.  He  discovered  means  to  construct  canal-locks  or 
sluices  ;  and  he  also  discovered  and  applied  the  simplest 
methods  of  extracting  ore  and  of  working  metals.  In 
fact  he  studied  no  science  without  advancing  it.  In 
youth  he  learned  Hebrew,  Greek,  and  Latin,  also  the 
oriental  languages,  with  which  he  became  so  familiar 
that  many  distinguished  scholars  consulted  him,  and  he 
was  able  to  decipher  the  vestiges  of  the  oldest  known 
books  of  Scripture,  namely :  '  The  Wars  of  Jehovah ' 
and  '  The  Enunciations,'  spoken  of  by  Moses  (Numbers 
xxi.  14,  15,  27-30),  also  by  Joshua,  Jeremiah,  and 
Samuel,  —  '  The  Wars  of  Jehovah '  being  the  historical 
part  and  '  The  Enunciations '  the  prophetical  part  of 
the  Mosaical  Books  anterior  to  Genesis.  Swedenborg 
even  affirms  that  '  the  Book  of  Jasher,'  the  Book  of  the 
Righteous,  mentioned  by  Joshua,  was  in  existence  in 
Eastern  Tartary,  together  with  the  doctrine  of  Corres- 
pondences. A  Frenchman  has  latel}',  so  they  tell  me, 
justified  these  statements  of  Swedenborg,  b}'  the  dis- 
covery  at  Bagdad   of  several   portions   of  the    Bible 


58  SerapUta. 

hitherto  unknown  in  Europe.  During  the  widespread 
discussion  on  animal  magnetism  which  took  its  rise  in 
Paris,  and  in  which  most  men  of  Western  science  took 
an  active  part  about  the  year  1785,  Monsieur  le  Marquis 
de  Thome  vindicated  the  memory  of  Swedenborg  by 
calling  attention  to  certain  assertions  made  by  the 
Commission  appointed  by  the  King  of  France  to  inves- 
tigate the  subject.  These  gentlemen  declared  that  no 
theory  of  magnetism  existed,  whereas  Swedenborg  had 
studied  and  promulged  it  ever  since  the  year  1720. 
Monsieur  de  Thome  seized  this  opportunity  to  show  the 
reason  why  so  many  men  of  science  relegated  Sweden- 
borg to  oblivion  while  they  delved  into  his  treasure- 
house  and  took  his  facts  to  aid  their  work.  '  Some  of 
the  most  illustrious  of  these  men,'  said  Monsieur  de 
Thom(5,  alludmg  to  the  'Theory  of  the  Earth'  by 
Buffon,  'have  had  the  meanness  to  wear  the  plumage  of 
the  noble  bird  and  refuse  him  all  acknowledgment ; '  and 
he  proved,  by  masterl}'  quotations  drawn  from  the  en- 
C3'clop9edic  works  of  Swedenborg,  that  the  great  prophet 
had  anticipated  by  over  a  century  the  slow  march  of 
human  science.  It  suffices  to  read  his  philosophical 
and  mineralogical  works  to  be  convinced  of  this.  In 
one  passage  he  is  seen  as  the  precursor  of  modern 
chemistry  by  the  announcement  that  the  productions  of 
organized  nature  are  decomposable  and  resolve  into  two 
simple  principles ;  also  that  water,  air,  and  fire  are  not 
elements.  In  another,  he  goes  in  a  few  words  to  the 
heart  of  magnetic  m3-steries  and  deprives  Mesmer  of 
the  honors  of  a  first  knowledge  of  them. 


SerapTiita.  59 

"  There,"  said  Monsieur  Becker,  pointing  to  a  long 
shelf  against  the  wall  between  the  stove  and  the  window 
on  which  were  ranged  books  of  all  sizes,  "  behold  him  ! 
here  are  seventeen  works  from  his  pen,  of  which  one, 
his  '  Philosophical  and  Mineralogical  "Works,'  published 
in  1734,  is  in  three  folio  volumes.  These  productions, 
which  prove  the  incontestable  knowledge  of  Sweden- 
borg,  were  given  to  me  by  Monsieur  Seraphitus,  his 
cousin  and  the  father  of  Seraphita. 

"  In  1740,"  continued  Monsieur  Becker,  after  a  slight 
pause,  "  Swedenborg  fell  into  a  state  of  absolute  silence, 
from  which  he  emerged  to  bid  farewell  to  all  his  earthl}' 
occupations ;  after  which  his  thoughts  turned  exclu- 
sivelj^  to  the  Spiritual  Life.  He  received  the  first  com- 
mands of  heaven  in  1745,  and  he  thus  relates  the  nature 
of  the  vocation  to  which  he  was  called :  One  evening, 
in  London,  after  dining  with  a  great  appetite,  a  thick 
white  mist  seemed  to  fill  his  room.  When  the  vapor 
dispersed  a  creature  in  human  form  rose  from  one 
corner  of  the  apartment,  and  said  in  a  stern  tone,  '  Do 
not  eat  so  much.'  He  refrained.  The  next  night  the 
same  man  returned,  radiant  in  light,  and  said  to  him, 
••  I  am  sent  of  God,  who  has  chosen  you  to  explain  to 
men  the  meaning  of  his  Word  and  his  Creation.  I  will 
tell  j'ou  what  to  write.'  The  vision  lasted  but  a  few 
moments.  The  Angel  was  clothed  in  purple.  During 
that  night  the  ej'es  of  his  inner  man  were  opened,  and 
he  was  forced  to  look  into  the  heavens,  into  the  world 
of  spirits,  and  into  hell,  — three  separate  spheres  ;  where 
he  encountered  persons  of  his  acquaintance  who  had 


60  Seraphita. 

departed  from  their  human  form,  some  long  since» 
others  lately.  Thenceforth  Swedenborg  lived  wholly 
in  the  spiritual  life,  remaining  in  this  world  only  as  the 
messenger  of  God.  His  mission  was  ridiculed  by  the 
incredulous,  but  his  conduct  was  plainly  that  of  a  being 
superior  to  humanity.  In  the  first  place,  though  limited 
in  means  to  the  bare  necessaries  of  life,  he  gave  away 
enormous  sums,  and  publicly,  in  several  cities,  restored 
the  fortunes  of  great  commercial  houses  when  they  were 
on  the  brink  of  failure.  No  one  ever  appealed  to  his 
generosity  who  was  not  immediately  satisfied.  A  scep- 
tical Englishman,  determined  to  know  the  truth,  fol- 
lowed him  to  Paris,  and  relates  that  there  his  doors 
stood  always  open.  One  day  a  servant  complained  of 
this  apparent  negligence,  which  laid  him  open  to  sus- 
picion of  thefts  that  might  be  committed  by  others. 
*He  need  feel  no  anxiety,'  said  Swedenborg,  smiling. 
'  But  I  do  not  wonder  at  his  fear ;  he  cannot  see  the 
guardian  who  protects  my  door.'  In  fact,  no  matter 
in  what  country  he  made  his  abode  he  never  closed  his 
doors,  and  nothing  was  ever  stolen  from  him.  At 
Gottenburg  —  a  town  situated  some  sixty  miles  from 
Stockholm  —  he  announced,  eight  da3-s  before  the  news 
arrived  by  courier,  the  conflagration  which  ravaged 
Stockholm,  and  the  exact  time  at  which  it  took  place. 
The  Queen  of  Sweden  wrote  to  her  brother,  the  King, 
at  Berlin,  that  one  of  her  ladies-in-waiting,  who  was 
ordered  by  the  courts  to  pay  a  sum  of  monej-  which  she 
was  certain  her  husband  had  paid  before  his  death, 
went  to  Swedenborg  and  begged  him  to  ask  her  hus- 


SerapJiita.  61 

band  where  she  coald  find  proof  of  the  payment.  Toe 
following  day  Swedenborg,  having  done  as  the  lady 
requested,  pointed  cot  the  place  where  the  receipt  woold 
be  found.  He  also  b^^ed  tiie  deceased  to  appear  to  his 
wife,  and  the  latter  saw  her  husband  in  a  dream, 
wrapped  in  a  dressing-gown  whidi  he  wore  just  before 
his  death ;  and  he  showed  her  the  paper  in  the  place 
indicated  by  Swedenborg,  where  it  had  been  securely 
put  away.  At  another  time,  embarking  from  Lond<m 
in  a  vessel  commanded  by  Captain  Dixon,  he  orer- 
heard  a  lady  a^^Ving  if  there  were  plenty  of  provisions 
on  board.  '  We  do  not  want  a  great  quantity,'  he  said ; 
*  in  eight  days  and  two  hoars  we  shall  reach  Stockholm,' 
—  which  actually  happened-  TMs  pe<mliar  state  of 
vision  as  to  the  things  of  earth — into  which  Sweden- 
borg could  put  himself  at  wiH,  and  which  astonished 
those  about  him  —  ^ss.  nevertheless,  but  a  feeble  rep- 
resentative of  Lis  :;.  -TV  of  looking  into  heaven- 

••  Not  the  least  icrG^kable  of  his  published  visions  is 
that  in  which  he  relates  his  journeys  tiiroi^  the  Astral 
Regions ;  his  descriptions  cannot  fail  to  astonish  the 
reader,  partly  through  the  crudity  of  their  details. 
A  man  whose  scientific  eminence  is  incontestable,  and 
who  united  in  his  own  person  powers  of  conception, 
will,  and  imagination,  wwild  surely  have  invented  better 
if  he  bad  invented  at  alL  The  fantastic  literature  of 
the  East  offers  nothing  tiiat  can  ^ve  an  idea  of  this 
astounding  work,  full  of  the  essence  of  poetry,  if  it  is 
permissible  to  compare  a  woik  of  faith  with  one  ot 
oriental  fancy.    The  transiwrtation  of  Swedenborg  by 


62  Seraphita. 

the  Angel  who  served  as  guide  to  his  first  journey  is 
told  with  a  sublimity  which  exceeds,  by  the  distance 
which  God  has  placed  betwixt  the  earth  and  sun,  the 
great  epics  of  Klopstock,  Milton,  Tasso,  and  Dante. 
This  description,  which  serves  in  fact  as  an  introduction 
to  his  work  on  the  Astral  Regions,  has  never  been  pub- 
lished ;  it  is  among  the  oral  traditions  left  by  Sweden- 
borg  to  the  three  disciples  who  were  nearest  to  his 
heart.  Monsieur  Silverichm  has  written  them  down. 
Monsieur  Seraphitus  endeavored  more  than  once  to 
talk  to  me  about  them ;  but  the  recollection  of  his 
cousin's  words  was  so  burning  a  memory  that  he  always 
stopped  short  at  the  first  sentence  and  became  lost  in 
a  revery  from  which  I  could  not  rouse  him." 

The  old  pastor  sighed  as  he  continued  :  ' '  The  baron 
told  me  that  the  argument  by  which  the  Angel  proved 
to  Swedenborg  that  these  bodies  are  not  made  to 
wander  through  space  puts  all  human  science  out 
of  sight  beneath  the  grandeur  of  a  divine  logic. 
According  to  the  Seer,  the  inhabitants  of  Jupiter 
will  not  cultivate  the  sciences,  which  they  call  dark- 
ness ;  those  of  Mercury  abhor  the  expression  of  ideas 
by  speech,  which  seems  to  them  too  material,  —  their 
language  is  ocular ;  those  of  Saturn  are  continually 
tempted  by  evil  spirits ;  those  of  the  Moon  are  as 
small  as  six-3'ear-old  children,  their  voices  issue  from 
the  abdomen,  on  which  they  crawl ;  those  of  Venus  are 
gigantic  in  height,  but  stupid,   and  live  by  robbery, 

—  although  a  part  of  this  latter  planet  is  inhabited  by 
beings  of  great  sweetness,  who  live  in  the  love  of  Good. 


Seraphita.  63 

In  short,  he  describes  the  customs  and  morals  of  all  the 
peoples  attached  to  the  different  globes,  and  explains 
the  general  meaning  of  their  existence  as  related  to  the 
universe  in  terms  so  precise,  giving  explanations  which 
agree  so  well  with  their  visible  evolutions  in  the  S3-stem 
of  the  world,  that  some  day,  perhaps,  scientific  men 
will  come  to  drink  of  these  living  waters. 

"  Here,"  said  Monsieur  Becker,  taking  down  a  book 
and  opening  it  at  a  mark,  "  here  are  the  woi'ds  with 
which  he  ended  this  work  :  — 

"  '  If  any  man  doubts  that  I  was  transported  through 
a  vast  number  of  Astral  Regions,  let  him  recall  my  ob- 
sei"vation  of  the  distances  in  that  other  life,  namely, 
that  they  exist  only  in  relation  to  the  external  state 
of  man ;  now,  being  transformed  within  like  unto  the 
Angelic  Spirits  of  those  Astral  Spheres,  I  was  able  to 
understand  them.' 

"  The  circumstances  to  which  we  of  this  canton  owe 
the  presence  among  us  of  Bai'on  Seraphitus,  the  be- 
loved cousin  of  Swedenborg,  enabled  me  to  know  all 
the  events  of  the  extraordinary  life  of  that  prophet. 
He  has  lately  been  accused  of  imposture  in  certain 
quarters  of  Europe,  and  the  public  prints  reported 
the  following  fact  based  on  a  letter  written  by  the 
Chevalier  Baylon.  Swedenborg,  the}'  said,  informed 
by  certain  senators  of  a  secret  correspondence  of  the 
late  Queen  of  Sweden  with  her  brother,  the  Prince  of 
Prussia,  revealed  his  knowledge  of  the  secrets  con- 
tained in  that  correspondence  to  the  Queen,  making 
her  believe  he  had  obtained  this  knowledge  by  super- 


64  Seraphita. 

natural  means.  A  man  worthy  of  all  confidence, 
Monsieur  Charles-Leonhard  de  Stahlhammer,  captain 
in  the  Royal  guard  and  knight  of  the  Sword,  answered 
the  calumny  with  a  convincing  letter." 

The  pastor  opened  a  drawer  of  his  table  and  looked 
through  a  number  of  papers  until  he  found  a  gazette 
which  he  held  out  to  Wilfrid,  asking  him  to  read  aloud 
the  following  letter :  — 

Stockholm,  May  18,  1788. 

I  HAVE  read  with  amazement  a  letter  which  purports  to 
relate  the  interview  of  the  famous  Swedenborg  with  Queen 
Louisa-Ulrika.  The  circumstances  therein  stated  are  wholly 
false ;  and  I  hope  the  writer  will  excuse  me  for  showing  him 
by  the  following  faithful  narration,  which  can  be  proved  by 
the  testimony  of  many  distinguished  persons  then  present 
and  stiU  living,  how  completely  he  has  been  deceived. 

In  1758,  shortly  after  the  death  of  the  Prince  of  Prussia 
Swedenborg  came  to  court,  where  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
attending  regularly.  He  had  scarcely  entered  the  queen's 
presence  before  she  said  to  him  :  "  Well,  Mr.  Assessor,  have 
you  seen  my  brother?"  Swedenborg  answered  no,  and 
the  queen  rejoined  :  "  If  you  do  see  him,  greet  him  for  me." 
In  saying  this  she  meant  no  more  than  a  pleasant  jest,  and 
had  no  thought  whatever  of  asking  him  for  information 
about  her  brother.  Eight  days  later  (not  twenty-four  as 
stated,  nor  was  the  audience  a  private  one),  Swedenborg 
agam  came  to  court,  but  so  early  that  the  queen  had  not  left 
her  apartment  called  the  White  Room,  where  she  was  con- 
versing with  her  maids-of -honor  and  other  ladies  attached  to 
the  court.  Swedenborg  did  not  wait  until  she  came  forth, 
but  entered  the  said  room  and  whispered  something  in  her 
ear.     The  queen,  overcome  with  amazement,  was  taken  ill, 


Seraphita.  65 

and  it  was  some  time  before  she  recovered  herself.  "VMien 
she  did  so  she  said  to  those  about  her  :  "  Only  God  and  my 
brother  knew  the  thing  that  he  has  just  spoken  of."  She 
admitted  that  it  related  to  her  last  correspondence  with  the 
prince  on  a  subject  which  was  known  to  them  alone.  I  can- 
not explain  how  Swedenborg  came  to  know  the  contents  of 
that  letter,  but  I  can  affirm  on  my  honor,  that  neither  Count 

H (as  the  writer  of  the  article  states)  nor  any   other 

person  intercepted,  or  read,  the  queen's  letters.  The  senate 
allowed  her  to  write  to  her  brother  in  perfect  security,  con- 
sidering the  correspondence  as  of  no  interest  to  the  State. 
It  is  evident  that  the  author  of  the  said  article  is  ignorant  of 

the  character  of  Count  H .    This  honored  gentleman,  who 

has  done  many  important  services  to  his  country,  unites  the 
qualities  of  a  noble  heart  to  gifts  of  mind,  and  his  great  age 
has  not  yet  weakened  these  precious  possessions.  During 
his  whole  administration  he  added  the  weight  of  scrupulous 
integrity  to  his  enlightened  policy  and  openly  declared  him- 
self the  enemy  of  all  secret  intrigues  and  underhand  deal- 
ings, which  he  regarded  as  unworthy  means  to  attain  an 
end.  Neither  did  the  writer  of  that  article  understand  the 
Assessor  Swedenborg.  The  only  weakness  of  that  essentially 
honest  man  was  a  belief  in  the  apparition  of  spirits ;  but  I 
knew  him  for  many  years,  and  I  can  affirm  that  he  was  as 
fully  convinced  that  he  met  and  talked  with  spirits  as  I 
am  that  I  am  writing  at  this  moment.  As  a  citizen  and 
as  a  friend  his  integrity  was  absolute  ;  he  abhorred  decep- 
tion and  led  the  most  exemplary  of  lives.  The,  version 
which  the  Chevalier  Baylon  gave  of  these  facts  is,  therefore, 
entirely  without  justification;  the  visit  stated  to  have  been 

made  to  Swedenborg  in  the  night-time  by  Count  H and 

Count   T is    hereby   contradicted.     In    conclusion,    the 

writer  of  the  letter  may  rest  assured  that  I  am  not  a  fol- 

5 


66  SerapTiita. 

lower  of  Swedenborg.  The  love  of  truth  alone  impels  me  to 
give  this  faithful  account  of  a  fact  which  has  been  so  often 
stated  with  details  that  are  entirely  false.  I  certify  to  the 
truth  of  what  I  have  written  by  adding  my  signature. 

Charles-Leonhard  de  Stahlhammer. 

"The  proofs  which  Swedenborg  gave  of  his  mission 
to  the  ro3'al  families  of  Sweden  and  Prussia  were  no 
doubt  the  foundation  of  the  belief  in  his  doctrines  which 
is  prevalent  at  the  two  courts,"  said  Monsieur  Becker, 
putting  the  gazette  into  the  drawer.  "  However,"  he 
continued,  "I  shall  not  tell  you  all  the  facts  of  his 
visible  and  material  life ;  indeed  his  habits  prevented 
them  from  being  fully  known.  He  lived  a  hidden  life  ; 
not  seeking  either  riches  or  fame.  He  was  even  noted 
for  a  sort  of  repugnance  to  making  proselytes ;  he 
opened  his  mind  to  few  persons,  and  never  showed  his 
external  powers  of  second-sight  to  any  who  were  not 
eminent  in  faith,  wisdom,  and  love.  He  could  recognize 
at  a  glance  the  state  of  the  soul  of  every  person  who 
approached  him,  and  those  whom  he  desired  to  reach 
with  his  inward  language  he  converted  into  Seers. 
After  the  j-ear  1745,  his  disciples  never  saw  him  do  a 
single  thing  from  any  human  motive.  One  man  alone, 
a  Swedish  priest,  named  Mathesius,  set  afloat  a  story 
that  he  went  mad  in  Loudon  in  1744.  But  a  eulogium 
on  Swedenborg  prepared  with  minute  care  as  to  all  the 
known  events  of  his  life,  was  pronounced  after  his  death 
in  1772  on  behalf  of  the  Ro^'al  Academy  of  Sciences  in 
the  Hall  of  the  Nobles  at  Stockholm,  by  Monsieur 
Sandels,  counsellor  of  the  Board  of  Mines.     A  declara- 


Seraphita,  67 

• 

tion  made  before  the  Lord  Major  of  London  gives  the 
details  of  his  last  illness  and  death,  in  which  he  received 
the  ministrations  of  Monsieur  Ferelius  a  Swedish  priest 
of  the  highest  standing,  and  pastor  of  the  Swedish 
Church  in  London,  Mathesius  being  his  assistant.  All 
persons  present  attested  that  so  far  from  den3ing  the 
value  of  his  writings  Swedenborg  firml}-  asserted  their 
truth.  '  In  one  hundred  years,'  Monsieur  FereUus 
quotes  him  as  saying,  '  my  doctrine  will  guide  the 
Church.'  He  predicted  the  day  and  hour  of  his  death. 
On  that  day,  Sunday,  March  29,  1772,  hearing  the  clock 
strike,  he  asked  what  time  it  was.  '  Five  o'clock ' 
was  the  answer.  '  It  is  well,'  he  answered ;  '  thank 
you,  God  bless  you.'  Ten  minutes  later  he  tranquilly 
departed,  breathing  a  gentle  sigh.  Simplicity,  modera- 
tion, and  solitude  were  the  features  of  his  life.  When 
he  had  finished  writing  any  of  his  books  he  sailed  either 
for  London  or  for  Holland,  where  he  published  them, 
and  never  spoke  of  them  again.  He  published  in  this 
way  twenty-seven  different  treatises,  all  written,  he  said, 
from  the  dictation  of  Angels.  Be  it  true  or  false,  few 
men  have  been  strong  enough  to  endure  the  flames  of 
oral  illumination. 

"  There  they  all  are,"  said  Monsieur  Becker,  pointing 
to  a  second  shelf  on  which  were  some  sixty  volumes. 
"  The  treatises  on  which  the  Divine  Spirit  casts  its  most 
vivid  gleams  are  seven  in  number,  namely : '  Heaven  and 
Hell ; ' '  Angelic  Wisdom  concerning  the  Divine  Love  and 
the  Divine  Wisdom  ; '  '  Angelic  Wisdom  concerning  the 
Divine  Providence  ; ' '  The  Apocalypse  Revealed  ; ' '  Con* 


I5ij  8eraphUa. 

jugial  Love  and  its  Chaste  Delights ; ' '  The  True  Christian 
Eelio-ion  ; '  and  *  An  Exposition  of  the  Internal  Sense.' 
Swedenborg's  explanation  of  the  Apocalypse  begins 
with  these  words,"  said  Monsieur  Becker,  taking  down 
and  opening  the  volume  nearest  to  him:  "'Herein  I 
have  written  nothing  of  mine  own  ;  I  speak  as  I  am 
bidden  by  the  Lord,  who  said,  through  the  same  angel, 
to  John :  "  Thou  shalt  not  seal  the  sayings  of  this 
Prophecy,'"  (Revelation  xxii.  10.) 

"My  dear  Monsieur  Wilfrid,"  said  the  old  man, 
looking  at  his  guest,  "I  often  tremble  in  every  limb 
as  I  read,  during  the  long  winter  evenings  the  awe- 
inspiring  works  in  which  this  man  declares  with  per- 
fect artlessness  the  wonders  that  are  revealed  to  him. 
'  I  have  seen,'  he  says,  '  Heaven  and  the  Angels. 
The  spiritual  man  sees  his  spiritual  fellows  far  better 
than  the  terrestrial  man  sees  the  men  of  earth.  In 
describing  the  wonders  of  heaven  and  beneath  the  heav- 
ens I  obey  the  Lord's  command.  Others  have  the  right 
to  believe  me  or  not  as  thej-  choose.  I  cannot  put  them 
into  the  state  in  which  God  has  put  me  ;  it  is  not  in  m}' 
power  to  enable  them  to  converse  with  Angels,  nor  to 
work  miracles  within  their  understanding ;  they  alone 
can  be  the  instrument  of  their  rise  to  angelic  inter- 
course. It  is  now  twentj'-eight  3'ears  since  I  have  lived 
in  the  Spiritual  world  with  angels,  and  on  earth  with 
men  ;  for  it  pleased  God  to  open  the  ej^es  of  my  Spirit 
as  he  did  that  of  Paul,  and  of  Daniel  and  Elisha.' 

"  And  yet,"  continued  the  pastor,  thoughtfully,  "  cer- 
tain persons  have  had  visions  of  the  spiritual  world 


Seraphita.  69 

through  the  complete  detachment  which  somnambulism 
produces  between  their  external  form  and  their  inner 
being.     '  In  this  state,'   says  Swedenborg  in  his  trea- 
tise on  Angelic  Wisdom   (No.   257)   '  Man  may  rise 
into  the  region  of  celestial  light  because,  his  corporeal 
senses   being   abolished,  the  influence  of  heaven  acts 
without  hindrance  on  his  inner  man.'     Manj'  persons 
who  do  not  doubt  that  Swedenborg  received  celestial 
revelations  think  that  his  writings  are  not  all  the  result 
of  divine  inspiration.      Others  insist  on  absolute  adher- 
ence to  him  ;  while  admitting  his  many  obscurities,  they 
believe  that  the  imperfection  of  earthly  language  pre- 
vented the  prophet  from  clearly  revealing  those  spiritual 
visions  whose  clouds  disperse  to  the  eyes  of  those  whom 
faith  regenerates  ;  for,  to  use  the  words  of  his  greatest 
disciple,   '  Flesh  is  but  an  external  propagation.'     Tc 
poets  and  to  writers  his  presentation  of  the  marvellous 
is  amazing ;  to  Seers  it  is  simply  reality.      To  some 
Christians   his   descriptions   have   seemed    scandalous. 
Certain  critics  have  ridiculed  the  celestial  substance  of 
his  temples,  his  golden  palaces,  his  splendid  cities  where 
angels  disport  themselves ;  they  laugh  at  his  groves  of 
miraculous  trees,  his  gardens  where  the  flowers  speak 
and  the  air  is  white,  and  the  mystical  stones,  the  sard, 
carbuncle,  chrysolite,  chrysoprase,  jacinth,  chalcedony, 
beryl,  the  Urim  and  Thumraim,  are  endowed  with  mo- 
tion, express  celestial  truths,  and  reply  by  variations 
of  light  to  questions  put  to  them  ('  True  Christian  Reli- 
gion,' 219).     Many  noble  souls  will  not  admit  his  spirit- 
ual worlds  where  colors  are  heard  in  delightful  concert, 


70  Seraphita. 

where  language  flames  and  flashes,  where  the  Word  is 
writ  in  pointed  spiral  letters  ('  True  Christian  Religion,' 
278).  Even  in  the  North  some  writers  have  laughed  at 
the  gates  of  pearl,  and  the  diamonds  which  stud  the 
floors  and  walls  of  his  New  Jerusalem,  where  the  most 
ordinary  utensils  are  made  of  the  rarest  substances  of 
the  globe.  *  But,'  say  his  disciples,  '  because  such  things 
are  sparsely  scattered  on  this  earth  does  it  follow  that 
they  are  not  abundant  in  other  worlds  ?  On  earth  they 
are  terrestrial  substances,  whereas  in  heaven  they  assume 
celestial  forms  and  are  in  keeping  with  angels.'  In  this 
connection  Swedenborg  has  used  the  very  words  of  Jesus 
Christ,  who  said,  '  If  I  have  told  you  earthly  things 
and  3'e  believe  not,  how  shall  ye  believe  if  I  tell  yon  of 
heavenly  things?' 

"  Monsieur,"  continued  the  pastor,  with  an  emphatic 
gesture,  "  I  have  read  the  whole  of  Swedenborg's  works ; 
and  I  sa}^  it  with  pride,  because  I  have  done  it  and 
3'et  have  retained  my  reason.  In  reading  him  men 
either  miss  his  meaning  or  become  Seers  like  him. 
Though  I  have  evaded  both  extremes,  I  have  often  ex- 
perienced unheard-of  delights,  deep  emotions,  inward 
joys,  which  alone  can  reveal  to  us  the  plenitude  of 
truth,  —  the  evidence  of  celestial  Light.  All  things 
here  below  seem  small  indeed  when  the  soul  is  lost  in 
the  perusal  of  these  Treatises.  It  is  impossible  not  to 
be  amazed  when  we  think  that  in  the  short  space  of 
thirty  j^ears  this  man  wrote  and  published,  on  the 
truths  of  the  Spiritual  World,  twenty-five  quarto  vol- 
umes, composed  in  Latin,  of  which  the  shortest  has 


SerapJiita.  jj 

five  hundred  pages,  all  of  them  printed  in  small  type. 
He  left,  thej'  say,  twenty  others  in  London,  bequeathed 
to  his  nephew,  Monsieur  Silverichm,  formerly  almoner 
to  the  King  of  Sweden.  Certainly  a  man  who,  between 
the  ages  of  twenty  and  sixty,  had  already  exhausted 
himself  in  publishing  a  series  of  encyelopsedical  works, 
must  have  received  supernatural  assistance  in  com- 
posing these  later  stupendous  treatises,  at  an  age,  too, 
when  human  vigor  is  on  the  wane.  You  will  find  in 
these  writings  thousands  of  propositions,  all  numbered, 
none  of  which  have  been  refuted.  Throughout  we  see 
method  and  precision  ;  the  presence  of  the  Spirit  issu- 
ing and  flowing  down  from  a  single  fact,  —  the  exist- 
ence of  angels.  His  '  True  Christian  Religion,'  which 
sums  up  his  whole  doctrine  and  is  vigorous  with  lio-ht 
was  conceived  and  written  at  the  age  of  eighty-three. 
In  fact,  his  amazing  vigor  and  omniscience  are  not 
denied  by  any  of  his  critics,  not  even  by  his  enemies. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Monsieur  Becker,  slowly, 
"though  I  have  drunk  deep  in  this  torrent  of  divine 
light,  God  has  not  opened  the  eyes  of  ray  inner  being, 
and  I  judge  these  writings  by  the  reason  of  an  un- 
regenerated  man.  I  have  often  felt  that  the  inspired 
Swedenborg  must  have  misunderstood  the  Angels.  I 
have  laughed  over  certam  visions  which,  according  to 
his  disciples,  I  ought  to  have  believed  with  veneration. 
I  have  failed  to  imagine  the  spiral  writing  of  the 
Angels  or  their  golden  belts,  on  which  the  gold  is  of 
great  or  lesser  thickness.  If,  for  example,  this  state- 
ment, '  Some  angels  are  solitary,'  afl"ected  me  power • 


72  Seraphita. 

fully  for  a  time,  I  was,  on  reflection,  unable  to  reconcile 
this  solitude  with  their  marriages.  I  have  not  under- 
stood why  the  Virgin  Mary  should  continue  to  wear 
blue  satin  garments  in  heaven.  I  have  even  dared  to 
ask  myself  why  those  gigantic  demons,  Enakira  and 
Hephilim,  came  so  frequently  to  fight  the  cherubim 
on  the  apocah-ptic  plains  of  Armageddon ;  and  I  can- 
not explain  to  m}'  own  mind  how  Satans  can  argue 
with  Angels.  Monsieur  le  Baron  Seraphitus  assured 
me  that  these  details  concerned  onlj'  the  angels  who 
live  on  earth  in  human  form.  The  visions  of  the 
prophet  are  often  blurred  with  grotesque  figures.  One 
of  his  spiritual  tales,  or  '  Memorable  relations,'  as  he 
called  them,  begins  thus  :  '  I  see  the  spirits  assembling, 
they  have  hats  upon  their  heads.'  In  another  of  these 
Memorabilia  he  receives  from  heaven  a  bit  of  paper, 
on  which  he  saw,  he  says,  the  hieroglyphics  of  the 
primitive  peoples,  which  were  composed  of  curved  lines 
traced  from  the  finger-rings  that  are  worn  in  heaven. 
However,  perhaps  I  am  wrong ;  possibl}'  the  material 
absurdities  with  which  his  works  are  strewn  have 
spiritual  significations.  Otherwise,  how  shall  we  ac- 
count for  the  growing  influence  of  his  religion?  His 
church  numbers  to-day  more  than  seven  hundred  thou- 
sand believers,  —  as  many  in  the  United  States  of 
America  as  in  England,  where  there  are  seven  thou- 
sand Swedenborgians  in  the  cit}-  of  Manchester  alone. 
Many  men  of  high  rank  in  knowledge  and  in  social 
position  in  Germany,  in  Prussia,  and  in  the  Northern 
kingdoms  have  publicly  adopted  the  beliefs  of  Sweden- 


SerapTiita.  73 

borg  ;  which,  I  ma}-  remark,  are  more  comforting  than 
those  of  all  other  Christian  communions.  I  wish  I  had 
the  power  to  explain  to  you  clearly  in  succinct  language 
the  leading  points  of  the  doctrine  on  which  Swedenborg 
founded  his  church ;  but  I  fear  such  a  summary,  made 
from  recollection,  would  be  necessarily  defective.  I 
shall,  therefore,  allow  myself  to  speak  only  of  those 
'  Arcana '  which  concern  the  birth  of  Seraphita." 

Here  Monsieur  Becker  paused,  as  though  composing 
his  mind  to  gather  up  his  ideas.  Presently  he  continued, 
as  follows :  — 

"  After  establishing  mathematically  that  man  lives 
eternally  in  spheres  of  either  a  lower  or  a  higher  grade, 
Swedenborg  applies  the  term  'Spiritual  Angels'  to 
beings  who  in  this  world  are  prepared  for  heaven, 
where  they  become  angels.  According  to  him,  God 
has  not  created  angels  ;  none  exist  who  have  not  been 
men  upon  the  earth.  The  earth  is  the  nursery-ground 
of  heaven.  The  Angels  are  therefore  not  Angels  as 
such  ('Angelic  Wisdom,'  57),  they  are  transformed 
through  their  close  conjunction  with  God ;  which  con- 
junction God  never  refuses,  because  the  essence  of  God 
is  not  negative,  but  incessantlj'  active.  The  spiritual 
angels  pass  through  three  natures  of  love,  because  man 
is  onl}'  regenerated  through  successive  stages  ('  True 
Religion ') .  First,  the  Love  of  Self  :  the  supreme 
expression  of  this  love  is  human  genius,  whose  works 
are  worshipped.  Next,  Love  of  Life  :  this  love  pro- 
duces prophets,  —  great  men  whom  the  world  accepts 
as  guides  and  proclaims,  to  be  divine.     Lastly,  Love 


74  Seraphita. 

OF  Heaven,  and  this  creates  the  Spiritual  Angel. 
These  angels  are,  so  to  speak,  the  flowers  of  hu- 
manity, which  culminates  in  them  and  works  for  that 
culmination.  They  must  possess  either  the  love  of 
heaven  or  the  wisdom  of  heaven,  but  always  Love 
before  Wisdom. 

"Thus  the  first  transformation  of  the  natural  man 
is  into  Love.  To  reach  this  first  degree,  his  previous 
existences  must  have  passed  through  Hope  and  Charity, 
which  prepare  him  for  Faith  and  Prayer.  The  ideas 
acquired  b^^  the  exercise  of  these  virtues  are  trans- 
mitted to  each  of  the  human  envelopes  within  which  are 
hidden  the  metamorphoses  of  the  Inner  Being  ;  for 
nothing  is  separate,  each  existence  is  necessary  to  the 
other  existences.  Hope  cannot  advance  without  Char- 
ity, nor  Faith  without  Prayer ;  thej'  are  the  four  fronts 
of  a  solid  square.  '  One  virtue  missing,'  he  said, 
'  and  the  Spiritual  Angel  is  like  a  broken  pearl.' 
Each  of  these  existences  is  therefore  a  circle  in  which 
revolves  the  celestial  riches  of  the  inner  being.  The 
perfection  of  the  Spiritual  Angels  comes  from  this 
mysterious  progression  in  which  nothing  is  lost  of  the 
high  qualities  that  are  successively  acquired  to  attain 
each  glorious  incarnation ;  for  at  each  transformation 
they  cast  away  unconsciously  the  flesh  and  its  errors. 
When  the  man  lives  in  Love  he  has  shed  all  evil 
passions:  Hope,  Charity,  Faith,  and  Prayer  have,  in 
the  words  of  Isaiah,  purged  the  dross  of  his  inner 
being,  which  can  never  more  be  polluted  by  earthly 
aff"ections.     Hence  the  grand  saying  of  Christ  quoted 


Seraphita.  75 

by  Saint  Matthew,  '  Lay  up  for  yourselves  treasures 
in  Heaven  where  neither  moth  nor  rust  doth  corrupt,' 
and  those  still  grander  words :  '  If  ye  were  of  this 
world  the  world  would  love  you,  but  I  have  chosen  you 
out  of  the  world  ;  be  ye  therefore  perfect  as  your  Father 
in  heaven  is  perfect.' " 

"  The  second  transformation  of  man  is  to  Wisdom, 
Wisdom  is  the  understanding  of  celestial  things  to 
which  the  spirit  is  brought  by  Love.  The  Spirit  of 
Love  has  acquired  strength,  the  result  of  all  vanquished 
terrestrial  passions ;  it  loves  God  blindly.  But  the 
Spirit  of  Wisdom  has  risen  to  understanding  and  knows 
why  it  loves.  The  wings  of  the  one  are  spread  and 
bear  the  spirit  to  God  ;  the  wings  of  the  other  are  held 
down  by  the  awe  that  comes  of  understanding :  the 
spirit  knows  God.  The  one  longs  incessantly  to  see 
God  and  to  fly  to  Him ;  the  other  attains  to  Him  and 
trembles.  The  union  eflfected  between  the  Spirit  of 
Love  and  the  Spirit  of  Wisdom  carries  the  human 
being  into  a  Divine  state  during  which  time  his  soul 
is  Woman  and  his  bod}'  Man,  the  last  human  mani- 
festation in  which  the  Spirit  conquers  Form,  or  Form 
still  struggles  against  the  Spirit, — for  Form,  that  is, 
the  flesh,  is  ignorant,  rebels,  and  desires  to  continue 
gross.  This  supreme  trial  creates  untold  sufl'erings 
seen  by  Heaven  alone,  —  the  agony  of  Christ  in  the 
Garden  of  Olives. 

"  After  death  the  first  heaven  opens  to  this  dual  and 
purified  human  nature.  Therefore  it  is  that  man  dies 
in  despair  while  the  Spirit  dies  in  ecstasy.     Thus,  the 


76  SerapJiita. 

Natural,  the  state  of  beings  not  yet  regenerated  ;  the 
Spiritual,  the  state  of  those  who  have  become  AngeUc 
Spirits ;  and  the  Divine,  the  state  in  which  the  Angel 
exists  before  he  breaks  from  his  covering  of  flesh,  are 
the  three  degrees  of  existence  through  which  man  en- 
ters heaven.  One  of  Swedenborg's  thoughts  expressed 
in  his  own  words  will  explain  to  you  with  wonderful 
clearness  the  difference  between  the  Natural  and  the 
Spiritual.  '  To  the  minds  of  men,'  he  says,  '  the 
Natural  passes  into  the  Spiritual ;  they  regard  the  world 
under  its  visible  aspects,  they  perceive  it  onl}^  as  it  can 
be  realized  by  their  senses.  But  to  the  apprehension  of 
AngeUc  Spirits,  the  Spiritual  passes  into  the  Natural ; 
the}-  regard  the  world  in  its  inward  essence,  and  not  in 
its  form.'  Thus  human  sciences  are  but  anal3'ses  of 
form.  The  man  of  science  as  the  world  goes  is  purely 
external  like  his  knowledge ;  his  inner  being  is  only 
used  to  preserve  his  aptitude  for  the  perception  of  ex- 
ternal truths.  The  Angelic  Spirit  goes  far  bej'ond  that ; 
his  knowledge  is  the  thought  of  which  human  science  is 
but  the  utterance  ;  he  derives  that  knowledge  from  the 
Logos,  and  learns  the  law  of  Correspondences  b}'' 
which  the  world  is  placed  in  unison  with  heaven.  The 
Word  of  God  was  wholly  written  by  pure  Correspond- 
ences, and  covers  an  esoteric  or  spiritual  meaning, 
which  according  to  the  science  of  Correspondences, 
cannot  be  understood.  '  There  exist,'  says  Sweden- 
borg  ('  Celestial  Doctrine '  26),  '  innumerable  Arcana 
within  the  hidden  meaning  of  the  Correspondences. 
Thus  the  men  who  scoff  at  the  books  of  the  Prophets 


Seraphita.  77 

■where  the  Word  is  enshrined  are  as  densely  ignorant 
as  those  other  men  who  know  nothing  of  a  science  and 
yet  ridicule  its  truths.  To  know  the  Correspondences 
of  the  Word  with  Heaven  ;  to  know  the  Correspond- 
ences which  exist  between  the  things  visible  and  pon- 
derable in  the  terrestrial  world  and  the  things  invisible 
and  imponderable  in  the  spiritual  world,  is  to  hold  heaven 
within  our  comprehension.  All  the  objects  of  the  mani- 
fold creations  having  emanated  from  God  necessarily  en- 
fold a  hidden  meaning ;  according,  indeed,  to  the  grand 
thought  of  Isaiah,  '  The  earth  is  a  garment.' 

"  This  m^'sterious  link  between  Heaven  and  the  small- 
est atoms  of  created  matter  constitutes  what  Sweden- 
borg  calls  a  Celestial  Arcanum,  and  his  treatise  on 
the  '  Celestial  Arcana '  in  which  he  explains  the  cor- 
respondences or  significances  of  the  Natural  with,  and 
to,  the  Spiritual,  giving,  to  use  the  words  of  Jacob 
Boehm,  the  sign  and  seal  of  all  things,  occupies  not 
less  than  sixteen  volumes  containing  thirty  thousand 
propositions.  '  This  marvellous  knowledge  of  Cor- 
respondences which  the  goodness  of  God  granted  to 
Swedenborg,'  says  one  of  his  disciples,  '  is  the  secret 
of  the  interest  which  draws  men  to  his  works.  Accord- 
ing to  him,  all  things  are  derived  from  heaven,  all 
things  lead  back  to  heaven.  His  writings  are  sublime 
and  clear;  he  speaks  in  heaven,  and  earth  hears  him. 
Take  one  of  his  sentences  b}'  itself  and  a  volume  could 
be  made  of  it;'  and  the  disciple  quotes  the  following 
passages  taken  from  a  thousand  others  that  would 
answer  the  same  purpose. 


78  SerapMta. 

"  '  The  kingdom  of  heaven,'  says  Swedenborg  ('Celes- 
tial Arcana'),  '  is  the  kingdom  of  motives.  Action  is 
born  in  heaven,  thence  into  the  world,  and,  by  degrees, 
to  the  infinitely  remote  parts  of  earth.  Terrestrial 
effects  being  thus  linked  to  celestial  causes,  all  things 
are  Correspondent  and  Significant.  Man  is  the 
means  of  union  between  the  Natural  and  the  Spiritual.' 

"  The  Angelic  Spirits  therefore  know  the  very  nature 
of  the  Correspondences  which  hnk  to  heaven  all  earthly 
things ;  they  know,  too,  the  inner  meaning  of  the 
prophetic  words  which  foretell  their  evolutions.  Thus 
to  these  Spirits  everything  here  below  has  its  signifi- 
cance ;  the  tiniest  flower  is  a  thought,  —  a  life  which 
corresponds  to  certain  lineaments  of  the  Great  Whole, 
of  which  they  have  a  constant  intuition.  To  them 
Adultery  and  the  excesses  spoken  of  in  Scripture  and 
by  the  Prophets,  often  garbled  by  self-stj-led  scholars, 
mean  the  state  of  those  souls  which  in  this  world  per- 
sist in  tainting  themselves  with  earthlj'^  aflfections,  thus 
compelling  their  divorce  from  Heaven.  Clouds  sig- 
nify the  veil  of  the  Most  High.  Torches,  shew-bread, 
horses  and  horsemen,  harlots,  precious  stones,  in  short, 
everything  named  in  Scripture,  has  to  them  a  clear- 
cut  meaning,  and  reveals  the  future  of  terrestrial 
facts  in  their  relation  to  Heaven.  They  penetrate  the 
truths  contained  in  the  Revelation  of  Saint  John  the 
divine,  which  human  science  has  subsequently  demon- 
strated and  proved  materially;  such,  for  instance,  as 
the  following  ('  big,'  said  Swedenborg,  '  with  many 
human  sciences ')  :  '  I  saw  a  new  heaven  and  a  new 


Seraphita.  79 

earth,  for  the  first  heaven  and  the  first  earth  were 
passed  away  '  (Revelation  xxi.  1).  These  Spirits  know 
the  supper  at  which  the  flesh  of  kings  and  the  flesh  of 
all  men,  free  and  bond,  is  eaten,  to  which  an  Angel 
standing  in  the  sun  has  bidden  them.  Thev  see  the 
winged  woman,  clothed  with  the  sun,  and  the  mailed 
man.  '  The  horse  of  the  Apocalyse,'  saj's  Swedenborg 
*  is  the  visible  image  of  human  intellect  ridden  by  Death, 
for  it  bears  within  itself  the  elements  of  its  own  destruc- 
tion.' Moreover,  they  can  distinguish  beings  concealed 
under  forms  which  to  ignorant  eyes  would  seem  fan- 
tastic. When  a  man  is  disposed  to  receive  the  pro- 
phetic afflation  of  Correspondences,  it  rouses  within  him 
a  perception  of  the  Word ;  he  comprehends  that  the 
creations  are  transformations  only ;  his  intellect  is 
sharpened,  a  burning  thirst  takes  possession  of  him 
which  onl^'  Heaven  can  quench.  He  conceives,  ac- 
cording to  the  greater  or  lesser  perfection  of  his  inner 
being,  the  power  of  the  Angelic  Spirits ;  and  he  ad- 
vances, led  b}'  Desire  (the  least  imperfect  state  of  un- 
regenerated  man)  towards  Hope,  the  gateway  to  the 
world  of  Spirits,  whence  he  reaches  Pra3*er,  which  gives 
him  the  Ke}'  of  Heaven. 

"What  being  here  below  would  not  desire  to  render 
himself  worthj'  of  entrance  into  the  sphere  of  those  who 
live  in  secret  by  Love  and  Wisdom?  Here  on  earth, 
during  their  lifetime,  such  spirits  remain  pure ;  they 
neither  see,  nor  think,  nor  speak  like  other  men.  There 
are  two  ways  by  which  perception  comes,  — one  inter- 
nal, the  other  external.     Man  is  wholly  external,  the 


80  Seraphita. 

Angelic  Spirit  wholly  internal.  The  Spirit  goes  to  the 
depth  of  Numbers,  possesses  a  full  sense  of  them, 
knows  their  significances.  It  controls  Motion,  and  by 
reason  of  its  ubiquity  it  shares  in  all  things.  'An 
Angel,'  says  Swedenborg,  '  is  ever  present  to  a  man 
when  desired '  ('Angelic  Wisdom')  ;  for  the  Angel  has 
the  gift  of  detaching  himself  from  his  body,  and  he 
sees  into  heaven  as  the  prophets  and  as  Swedenborg 
himself  saw  into  it.  '  In  this  state,'  writes  Swedenborg 
('  True  Religion,'  136),  '  the  spirit  of  a  man  may  move 
from  one  place  to  another,  his  body  remaining  where 
it  is,  —  a  condition  in  which  I  lived  for  over  twent^'-six 
years.'  It  is  thus  that  we  should  interpret  all  Biblical 
statements  which  begin,  '  The  Spirit  led  me.'  Angelic 
Wisdom  is  to  human  wisdom  what  the  innumerable 
forces  of  nature  are  to  its  action,  which  is  one.  All 
things  live  again,  and  move  and  have  their  being  in 
the  Spirit,  which  is  in  God.  Saint  Paul  expresses  this 
truth  when  he  says,  T71  Deo  sumus,  movemur,  et 
vivimus,  —  we  live,  we  act,  we  are  in  God. 

"Earth  offers  no  hindrance  to  the  Angelic  Spirit, 
just  as  the  Word  offers  him  no  obscurit}^  His  ap- 
proaching di\'init3'  enables  him  to  see  the  thought  of 
God  veiled  in  the  Logos,  just  as,  living  b}'  his  inner 
being,  the  Spirit  is  in  communication  with  the  hidden 
meaning  of  all  things  on  this  earth.  Science  is  the 
language  of  the  Temporal  world,  Love  is  that  of  the 
Spiritual  world.  Thus  man  takes  note  of  more  than  he 
is  able  to  explain,  while  the  Angelic  Spirit  sees  and 
comprehends.     Science  depresses  man  ;  Love  exalts  the 


Seraphita.  81 

Angel.  Science  is  still  seeking,  Love  has  found.  Man 
judges  Nature  according  to  his  own  relations  to  her ; 
the  Angelic  Spirit  judges  it  in  its  relation  to  Heaven. 
In  short,  all  things  have  a  voice  for  the  Spii'it.  Spirits 
are  in  the  secret  of  the  harmony  of  all  creations  with 
each  other ;  they  comprehend  the  spirit  of  sound,  the 
spirit  of  color,  the  spirit  of  vegetable  life ;  the}-  can 
question  the  mineral,  and  the  mineral  makes  answer  to 
their  thoughts.  What  to  them  are  sciences  and  the 
treasures  of  the  earth  when  they  grasp  all  things  by 
the  eye  at  all  moments,  when  the  worlds  which  absorb 
the  minds  of  so  man}'  men  are  to  them  but  the  last  step 
from  which  they  spring  to  God?  Love  of  heaven,  or 
the  Wisdom  of  heaven,  is  made  manifest  in  them  b}-  a 
circle  of  light  which  surrounds  them,  and  is  visible  to 
the  Elect.  Their  innocence,  of  which  that  of  chil- 
dren is  a  sj-mbol,  possesses,  nevertheless,  a  knowledge 
which  children  have  not ;  they  are  both  innocent  and 
learned.  'And,*  sa3's  Swedenborg,  'the  innocence  of 
Heaven  makes  such  an  impression  upon  the  soul  that 
those  whom  it  affects  keep  a  rapturous  memory-  of  it 
which  lasts  them  all  their  lives,  as  I  m3'self  have  ex- 
perienced. It  is  perhaps  sufficient,'  he  goes  on,  '  to 
have  only  a  minimum  perception  of  it  to  be  forever 
changed,  to  long  to  enter  Heaven  and  the  sphere  of 
Hope.' 

"  His  docti'ine  of  Marriage  can  be  reduced  to  the  fol- 
lowing words :  '  The  Lord  has  taken  the  beauty  and 
the  grace  of  the  life  of  man  and  bestowed  them  upon 
woman.     When  man  is  not  reunited  to  this  beauty  and 

6 


82  Seraphita. 

this  grace  of  his  life,  he  is  harsh,  sad,  and  sullen  ;  when 
he  is  reunited  to  them  he  is  joyful  and  complete.'  The 
Angels  are  ever  at  the  perfect  point  of  beauty.  Mar- 
riao-es  are  celebrated  by  wondrous  ceremonies.  In  these 
unions,  which  produce  no  children,  man  contributes  the 
Understanding,  woman  the  Will;  they  become  one 
beino-,  one  Flesh  here  below,  and  pass  to  heaven  clothed 
in  the  celestial  form.  On  this  earth,  the  natural  attrac- 
tion of  the  sexes  towards  enjoyment  is  an  Effect  which 
allures,  fatigues  and  disgusts  ;  but  in  the  form  celestial 
the  pair,  now  one  in  Spirit  find  within  theirself  a  cease- 
less source  of  joy.  Swedenborg  was  led  to  see  these 
nuptials  of  the  Spirits,  which  in  the  words  of  Saint  Luke 
(xx.  35)  are  neither  marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage, 
and  which  inspire  none  but  spiritual  pleasures.  An 
Anscel  offered  to  make  him  witness  of  such  a  marriage 
and  bore  him  thither  on  his  wings  (the  wings  are  a 
symbol  and  not  a  reality) .  The  Angel  clothed  him  in 
a  wedding  garment  and  when  Swedenborg,  finding  him- 
self thus  robed  in  light,  asked  why,  the  answer  wab . 
*  For  these  events,  our  garments  are  illuminated  ;  they 
shine;  they  are  made  nuptial.'  ('Conjugial  Love,'  19, 
20,  2L)  Then  he  saw  two  Angels,  one  coming  from 
the  South,  the  other  from  the  East ;  the  Angel  of  the 
South  was  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  two  white  horses,  with 
reins  of  the  color  and  brilliance  of  the  dawn  ;  but  lo, 
when  they  were  near  him  in  the  sk}^  chariot  and  horses 
vanished.  The  Angel  of  the  East,  clothed  in  crimson, 
and  the  Angel  of  the  South,  in  purple,  drew  together, 
like  breaths,  and  mingled :  one  was  the  Angel  of  Love, 


SerapJdta.  83 

the  other  the  Angel  of  Wisdom.  Swedenborg's  guide 
told  him  that  the  two  Angels  had  been  linked  together 
on  earth  by  an  inward  friendship  and  ever  united  though 
separated  in  life  b^'  great  distances.  Consent,  the 
essence  of  all  good  marriage  upon  earth,  is  the  habitual 
state  of  Angels  in  Heaven.  Love  is  the  light  of  their 
world.  The  eternal  rapture  of  Angels  comes  from  the 
faculty  that  God  communicates  to  them  to  render  back 
to  Him  the  jo}'  they  feel  through  Him.  This  reciprocity' 
of  infinitude  forms  their  life.  They  become  infinite  by 
participating  of  the  essence  of  God,  who  generates  Him- 
self by  Himself. 

"The  immensity  of  the  Heavens  where  the  Angels 
dwell  is  such  that  if  man  were  endowed  with  sight  as 
rapid  as  the  darting  of  light  from  the  sun  to  the  earth, 
and  if  he  gazed  throughout  eternitj',  his  eyes  could 
not  reach  the  horizon,  nor  find  an  end.  Light  alone 
can  give  an  idea  of  the  joys  of  heaven.  '  It  is,'  says 
Swedenborg  ('Angelic  Wisdom,'  7,  25,  26,  27),  'a 
vapor  of  the  virtue  of  God,  a  pure  emanation  of  His 
splendor,  beside  which  our  greatest  brilliance  is  obscu- 
rity. It  can  compass  all ;  it  can  renew  all,  and  is  never 
absorbed  :  it  environs  the  Angel  and  unites  him  to  God 
by  infinite  joys  which  multiply  infinitel}'  of  themselves. 
This  Light  destroys  whosoever  is  not  prepared  to  re- 
ceive it.  No  one  here  below,  nor  yet  in  Heaven  can 
see  God  and  Uve.  This  is  the  meaning  of  the  saying 
(Exodus  xix.  12,  13,  21-23)  "Take  heed  to  your- 
selves that  ye  go  not  up  into  the  mount  —  lest  ye  break 
through   unto   the  Lord  to   gaze,  and   many  perish." 


84  SerapJiita. 

And  again  (Exodus  xxxiv.  29-35),  "When  Moses 
came  down  from  Mount  Sinai  with  the  two  Tables  of 
testimony  in  his  hand,  his  face  shone,  so  that  he  put  a 
veil  upon  it  when  he  spake  with  tlie  people,  lest  any  of 
them  die."  The  Transfiguration  of  Jesus  Christ  like- 
wise revealed  the  light  surrounding  the  Messengers  from 
on  high  and  the  ineffable  jo3'S  of  the  Angels  who  are  for- 
ever imbued  with  it.  "  His  face,"  says  Saint  Matthew 
(xvii.  1-5),  "did  shine  as  the  sun  and  his  raiment  was 
white  as  the  light  —  and  a  bright  cloud  overshadowed 
them." ' 

"  When  a  planet  contains  onl}'  those  beings  who  re- 
ject the  Lord,  when  his  word  is  ignored,  then  the  Angelic 
Spirits  are  gathered  together  by  the  four  winds,  and 
God  sends  forth  an  Exterminating  Angel  to  change  the 
face  of  the  refractor}-  earth,  which  in  the  immensit}'  of 
this  universe  is  to  Him  what  an  unfruitful  seed  is  to 
Nature.  Approaching  the  globe,  this  Exterminating 
Angel,  borne  by  a  comet,  causes  the  planet  to  turn 
upon  its  axis,  and  the  lands  lately*  covered  by  the  seas 
reappear,  adorned  in  freshness  and  obedient  to  the 
laws  proclaimed  in  Genesis  ;  the  Word  of  God  is  once 
more  powerful  on  this  new  earth,  which  everywhere 
exhibits  the  effects  of  terrestrial  waters  and  celestial 
flames.  The  light  brought  by  the  Angel  from  On 
High,  causes  the  sun  to  pale.  'Then,'  says  Isaiah, 
(xix.  20)  '  men  will  hide  in  the  clefts  of  the  rock  and 
roll  themselves  in  the  dust  of  the  earth.'  '  They  will  cry 
to  the  mountains  (Revelation),  Fall  on  us!  and  to  the 
seas,  Swallow  us  up !     Hide  us  from  the  face  of  Him 


Seraphita.  85 

that  sitteth  on  the  throne,  and  from  the  wrath  of  the 
Lamb  ! '  The  Lamb  is  the  great  figure  and  hope  of  the 
Angels  misjudged  and  persecuted  here  below.  Christ 
himself  has  said,  '  Blessed  are  those  who  mourn ! 
Blessed  are  the  simple-hearted  !  Blessed  are  the}-  that 
love!'  —  All  Swedenborg  is  there!  Suffer,  Believe, 
Love.  To  love  truly  must  we  not  suffer?  must  we 
not  believe?  Love  begets  Strength,  Strength  bestows 
Wisdom,  thence  Intelligence  ;  for  Strength  and  "Wis- 
dom demand  Will.  To  be  intelligent,  is  not  that  to 
Know,  to  Wish,  and  to  Will,  —  the  three  attributes 
of  the  Angelic  Spirit?  'If  the  universe  has  a  mean- 
ing,' Monsieur  Saint-Martin  said  to  me  when  I  met 
him  during  a  journe}'  which  he  made  in  Sweden,  '  surely 
this  is  the  one  most  worthy  of  God.' 

"  But,  Monsieur,"  continued  the  pastor  after  a  thought- 
ful pause,  "  of  what  avail  to  30U  are  these  shreds  of 
thoughts  taken  here  and  there  from  the  vast  extent  of 
a  work  of  which  no  true  idea  can  be  given  except  hy 
comparing  it  to  a  river  of  light,  to  billows  of  flame? 
When  a  man  plunges  into  it  he  is  carried  away  as  by 
an  awful  current.  Dante's  poem  seems  but  a  speck 
to  the  reader  submerged  in  the  almost  Biblical  verses 
with  which  Swedenborg  renders  palpable  the  Celestial 
Worlds,  as  Beethoven  built  his  palaces  of  harmony 
with  thousands  of  notes,  as  architects  have  reared 
cathedrals  with  millions  of  stones.  We  roll  in  sound- 
less depths,  where  our  minds  will  not  alwaj's  sustain  us. 
Ah,  surely  a  great  and  powerful  intellect  is  needed  to 
bring  us  back,  safe  and  sound,  to  our  own  social  beliefs. 


86  Seraphita. 

"  Swedenborg,"  resumed  the  pastor,  "was  particu- 
larly attached  to  the  Baron  de  Seraphitz,  whose  name, 
according  to  an  old  Swedish  custom,  had  taken  from 
time  immemorial  the  Latin  termination  of  us.  The 
baron  was  an  ardent  disciple  of  the  Swedish  prophet, 
who  had  opened  the  e3'es  of  his  Inner-Man  and  brought 
him  to  a  life  in  conformity  with  the  decrees  from  On- 
High.  He  sought  for  an  Angelic  Spirit  among  women  ; 
Swedenborg  found  her  for  him  in  a  vision.  His  bride 
was  the  daughter  of  a  London  shoemaker,  in  whom, 
said  Swedenborg,  the  life  of  Heaven  shone,  she  having 
passed  through  all  anterior  trials.  After  the  death, 
that  is,  the  transformation  of  the  prophet,  the  baron 
came  to  Jarvis  to  accomplish  his  celestial  nuptials  with 
the  observances  of  Praj^er.  As  for  me,  who  am  not  a 
Seer,  I  have  only  known  the  terrestrial  works  of  this 
couple.  Their  lives  were  those  of  saints  whose  virtues 
are  the  glory  of  the  Roman  Church.  They  ameliorated 
the  condition  of  our  people ;  they  supplied  them  all 
with  means  in  return  for  work,  —  little,  perhaps,  but 
enough  for  all  their  wants.  Those  who  lived  with 
them  in  constant  intercourse  never  saw  them  show  a 
sign  of  anger  or  impatience ;  they  were  constantly 
beneficent  and  gentle,  full  of  courtesy  and  loving- 
kindness  ;  their  marriage  was  the  harmony  of  two 
souls  indissolubly  united.  Two  eiders  winging  the 
same  flight,  the  sound  in  the  echo,  the  thought  in  the 
word,  —  these,  perhaps,  are  true  images  of  their  union. 
Every  one  here  in  Jarvis  loved  them  with  an  affection 
which  I  can  compare  only  to  the  love  of  a  plant  for  the 


Seraphita.  87 

sun.  The  wife  was  simple  in  lier  manners,  beautiful 
in  form,  lovely  in  face,  with  a  dignity-  of  bearing  like 
that  of  august  personages.  In  1783,  being  then  twenty- 
six  years  old,  she  conceived  a  child ;  her  pregnancy 
was  to  the  pair  a  solemn  joy.  They  prepared  to  bid 
the  earth  farewell ;  for  they  told  me  they  should  be 
transformed  when  their  child  had  passed  the  state  of 
infancy  which  needed  their  fostering  care  until  the 
strength  to  exist  alone  should  be  given  to  her. 

"  Their  child  was  born,  —  the  Seraphita  we  are  now 
concerned  with.  From  the  moment  of  her  conception 
father  and  mother  lived  a  still  more  solitarj-  life  than  in 
the  past,  lifting  themselves  to  heaven  by  Prayer.  They 
hoped  to  see  Swedenborg,  and  faith  realized  their  hope. 
The  day  on  which  Seraphita  came  into  the  world  Swe- 
denborg appeared  in  Jarvis,  and  filled  the  room  of  the 
new-born  child  with  light.  I  was  told  that  he  said, 
'  The  work  is  accomplished ;  the  Heavens  rejoice ! ' 
Sounds  of  unknown  melodies  were  heard  throughout 
the  house,  seeming  to  come  from  the  four  points  of 
heaven  on  the  wings  of  the  wind.  The  spirit  of 
Swedenborg  led  the  father  forth  to  the  shores  of  the 
fiord  and  there  quitted  him.  Certain  inhabitants  of 
Jarvis,  having  approached  Monsieur  Seraphitus  as  he 
stood  on  the  shore,  heard  him  repeat  those  blissful 
words  of  Scripture  :  '  How  beautiful  on  the  mountains 
are  the  feet  of  Him  who  is  sent  of  God  ! ' 

"  I  had  left  the  parsonage  on  mj'  wa}'  to  baptize  the 
infant  and  name  it,  and  perform  the  other  duties  re- 
quired by  law,  when  I  met  the  baron  returning  to  the 


88  SerapTiita. 

house.  '  Your  ministrations  are  superfluous,'  he  said ; 
'  our  child  is  to  be  without  name  on  this  earth.  You 
must  not  baptize  in  the  waters  of  an  earthly  Church 
one  who  has  just  been  immersed  in  the  fires  of  Heaven. 
This  child  will  remain  a  blossom,  it  will  not  grow  old; 
you  will  see  it  pass  away.  You  exist,  but  our  child  has 
life ;  you  have  outward  senses,  the  child  has  none,  its 
beiuo'  is  all  inward.'  These  words  were  uttered  in  so 
strange  and  supernatural  a  voice  that  I  was  more 
affected  b}'  them  than  by  the  shining  of  his  face,  from 
which  light  appeared  to  exude.  His  appearance  re- 
alized the  phantasmal  ideas  which  we  form  of  inspired 
beings  as  we  read  the  prophesies  of  the  Bible.  But 
such  effects  are  not  rare  among  our  mountains,  where 
the  nitre  of  perpetual  snows  produces  extraordinary 
phenomena  in  the  human  organization. 

"  I  asked  him  the  cause  of  his  emotion.  '  Sweden- 
borg  came  to  us  ;  he  has  just  left  me  ;  I  have  breathed 
the  air  of  heaven,'  he  replied.  'Under  what  form  did 
he  appear?'  I  said.  '  Under  his  earthly-  form  ;  dressed 
as  he  was  the  last  time  I  saw  him  in  London,  at 
the  house  of  Richard  Shearsmith,  Coldbath-fields,  in 
Jul}',  1771.  He  wore  his  brown  frieze  coat  with  steel 
buttons,  his  waistcoat  buttoned  to  the  throat,  a  white 
cravat,  and  the  same  magisterial  wig  rolled  and  pow- 
dered at  the  sides  and  raised  high  in  front,  showing  his 
vast  and  luminous  brow,  in  keeping  with  the  noble 
square  face,  where  all  is  power  and  tranquillity.  I 
recognized  the  large  nose  with  its  fiery  nostril,  the 
mouth  that  ever  smiled,  —  angelic  mouth  from  which 


Seraphita.  gn 

these  words,  the  pledge  of  my  happiness,  have  just 
issued,  "We  shall  meet  soon.'" 

"  The  conviction  that  shone  on  the  baron's  face  for- 
bade  all  discussion  ;  I  listened  in  silence.     His  voice 
had  a  contagious   heat  which   made   my   bosom   burn 
within  me  ;  his  fanaticism  stirred  my  heart  as  the  anger 
of  another  makes  our  nerves  vibrate.     I  followed  him 
in  silence  to  his  house,  where  I  saw  the  nameless  cliild 
lying  mysteriously  folded  to  its  mother's  breast.     The 
babe  heard  my  step  and  turned  its  head  toward  me ;  its 
eyes  were  not  those  of  an  ordinary  child.     To  give  you 
an  idea  of  the  impression  I  received,  I  must  say  that 
already  they  saw  and  thought.     The  childhood  of  this 
predestined  being  was  attended  by  circumstances  quite 
extraordinary  in  our  climate.     For  nine  years  our  win- 
ters were  milder  and  our  summers  longer  than  usual. 
This  phenomenon  gave  rise  to  several  discussions  among 
scientific  men ;  but  none  of  their  explanations  seemed 
sufficient  to  academicians,  and  the  baron  smiled  when 
I  told  him  of  them.     The  child  was  never  seen  in  its 
nudity  as  other  children  are ;  it  was  never  touched  by 
man  or  woman,   but  lived  a  sacred   thing   upon   the 
mother's  breast,  and  it  never  cried.     If  you  question 
old  David  he  will  confirm  these  facts  about  his  mis- 
tress,   for   whom   he   feels   an  adoration   like   that  of 
Louis  IX.  for  the  saint  whose  name  he  bore. 

"  At  nine  years  of  age  the  child  began  to  pray ;  prayer 
is  her  life.  You  saw  her  in  the  church  at  Christmas, 
the  only  day  on  which  she  comes  there ;  she  is  sepa- 
rated from  the  other  worshippers  by  a  visible  space. 


90  Seraphita. 

If  that  space  does  not  exist  between  herself  and  men 
she  suffers.  That  is  why  she  passes  nearly-  all  her  time 
alone  in  the  chateau.  The  events  of  her  life  are  un- 
known ;  she  is  seldom  seen  ;  her  da3's  are  spent  in  the 
state  of  mj'stical  contemplation  which  was,  so  Catholic 
writers  tell  us,  habitual  with  the  early  Christian  soli- 
taries, in  whom  the  oral  tradition  of  Christ's  own  words 
still  remained.  Her  mind,  her  soul,  her  body,  all  within 
her  is  virgin  as  the  snow  on  those  mountains.  At  ten 
years  of  age  she  was  just  what  you  see  her  now.  When 
she  was  nine  her  father  and  mother  expired  together, 
without  pain  or  visible  malady,  after  naming  the  day 
and  hour  at  which  the}'  would  cease  to  be.  Standing 
at  their  feet  she  looked  at  them  with  a  calm  eye,  not 
showing  either  sadness,  or  grief,  or  joy,  or  curiosity. 
When  we  approached  to  remove  the  two  bodies  she 
said,  '  Carry  them  away ! '  '  Seraphita,'  I  said,  for 
so  we  called  her,  '  are  you  not  affected  by  the  death 
of  your  father  and  your  mother  who  loved  yon  so 
much?'  'Dead?'  she  answered,  'no,  they  live  in  me 
forever  —  That  is  nothing,'  she  added,  pointing  with- 
out a  trace  of  emotion  to  the  bodies  they  were  bearing 
awaj'.  I  then  saw  her  for  the  third  time  only  since  her 
birth.  In  church  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  her ;  she 
stands  near  a  column  which,  seen  from  the  pulpit,  is  in 
shadow,  so  that  I  cannot  observe  her  features. 

"  Of  all  the  servants  of  the  household  there  remained 
after  the  death  of  the  master  and  mistress  only  old 
David,  who,  in  spite  of  his  eighty -two  years,  suffices  to 
wait  on  his  mistress.      Some  of  our  Jarvis  people  tell 


Seraphita.  91 

wonderful  tales  about  her.  These  have  a  certain  weight 
in  a  land  so  essentiall}-  conducive  to  mj'ster}-  as  ours  ; 
and  I  am  now  studying  the  treatise  on  Incantations  by 
Jean  Wier  and  other  works  relating  to  demonology, 
where  pretended  supernatural  events  are  recorded, 
hoping  to  find  facts  analogous  to  those  which  are  at- 
tributed to  her." 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  in  her?"  said  Wilfred. 

''  Oh  yes,  I  do,"  said  the  pastor,  genially,  "  I  think 
her  a  very  capricious  girl ;  a  little  spoilt  by  her  parents, 
who  turned  her  head  with  the  religious  ideas  1  have  just 
revealed  to  j'ou." 

Minna  shook  her  head  in  a  way  that  gentl3-  expressed 
contradiction. 

"  Poor  gu-1 !  "  continued  the  old  man,  "  her  parents 
bequeathed  to  her  that  fatal  exaltation  of  soul  which 
misleads  mystics  and  renders  them  all  more  or  less 
mad.  She  subjects  herself  to  fasts  which  horrify  poor 
David.  The  good  old  man  is  like  a  sensitive  plant 
which  quivers  at  the  slightest  breeze,  and  glows  under 
the  first  sun-ra}'.  His  mistress,  whose  incomprehen- 
sible language  has  become  his,  is  the  breeze  and  the 
sun-ray  to  him  ;  in  his  eyes  her  feet  are  diamonds  and 
her  brow  is  strewn  with  stars ;  she  walks  environed 
with  a  white  and  luminous  atmosphere ;  her  voice  is 
accompanied  by  music ;  she  has  the  gift  of  rendering 
herself  invisible.  If  you  ask  to  see  her,  he  will  tellj'ou 
she  has  gone  to  the  Astral  Regions.  It  is  difficult  to 
believe  such  a  story,  is  it  not?  You  know  all  miracles 
bear   more   or   less   resemblance   to   the   story  of  the 


92  Seraphita. 

Golden  Tooth.  We  have  our  golden  tooth  in  Jarvis, 
that  is  all.  Duneker  the  fisherman  asserts  that  he  has 
seen  her  plunge  into  the  fiord  and  come  up  in  the  shape 
of  an  eider-duck,  at  other  times  walking  on  the  billows 
in  a  storm.  Fergus,  who  leads  the  flocks  to  the  saeters, 
says  that  in  rainy  weather  a  circle  of  clear  sky  can  be 
seen  over  the  Swedish  castle  ;  and  that  the  heavens  are 
always  blue  above  Seraphita's  head  when  she  is  on  the 
mountain.  Man}'  women  hear  the  tones  of  a  mighty 
organ  when  Seraphita  enters  the  church,  and  ask  their 
neighbors  earnestly  if  they  too  do  not  hear  them.  But 
my  daughter,  for  whom  during  the  last  two  years  Sera- 
phita has  shown  much  affection,  has  never  heard  this 
music,  and  has  never  perceived  the  heavenly  perfumes 
which,  they  saj',  make  the  air  fragrant  about  her  when 
she  moves.  Minna,  to  be  sure,  has  often  on  returning 
from  their  walks  together  expressed  to  me  the  delight 
of  a  3'oung  girl  in  the  beauties  of  our  spring-time,  in 
the  spicy  odors  of  budding  larches  and  pines  and  the 
earliest  flowers ;  but  after  our  long  winters  what  can 
be  more  natural  than  such  pleasure  ?  The  companion- 
ship of  this  so-called  spirit  has  nothing  so  \&vy  extra- 
ordinary in  it,  has  it,  mj-  child?" 

"  The  secrets  of  that  spirit  are  not  mine,"  said 
Minna.  "Near  it  I  know  all,  away  from  it  I  know 
nothing ;  near  that  exquisite  life  I  am  no  longer  my- 
self, far  from  it  I  forget  all.  The  time  we  pass  to- 
gether is  a  dream  which  my  memory  scarcely  retains. 
I  ma}'  have  heard  yet  not  remember  the  music  which  the 
women  tell  of;  in  that  presence,  I  may  have  breathed 


Seraphita.  93 

celestial  perfumes,  seen  the  glory  of  the  heavens,  and 
j'et  be  unable  to  recollect  them  here." 

"What  astonishes  me  most,"  resumed  the  pastor, 
addressing  Wilfrid,  "  is  to  notice  that  you  suffer  from 
being  near  her." 

' '  Near  her  !  "  exclaimed  the  stranger,  ' '  she  has 
never  so  much  as  let  me  touch  her  hand.  When  she 
saw  me  for  the  first  time  her  glance  intimidated  me ; 
she  said :  '  You  are  welcome  here,  for  3'ou  were  to 
come.'  I  fancied  that  she  knew  me.  I  trembled.  It 
is  fear  that  forces  me  to  believe  in  her." 

"  With  me  it  is  love,"  said  Minna,  without  a  blush. 

"Are  3'ou  making  fun  of  me?"  said  Monsieur 
Becker,  laughing  good-humoredly  ;  "  you  my  daughter, 
in  calling  yourself  a  Spirit  of  Love,  and  3'ou,  Monsieur 
Wilfrid,  in  pretending  to  be  a  Spirit  of  Wisdom?  " 

He  drank  a  glass  of  beer  and  so  did  not  see  the 
singular  look  which  Wilfrid  cast  upon  Minna. 

"  Jesting  apart,"  resumed  the  old  gentleman,  "  I 
have  been  much  astonished  to  hear  that  these  two 
mad-caps  ascended  to  the  summit  of  the  Falberg ;  it 
must  be  a  girlish  exaggeration  ;  they  probably  went  to 
the  crest  of  a  ledge.  It  is  impossible  to  reach  the  peaks 
of  the  Falberg." 

"  If  so,  father,"  said  Minna,  in  an  agitated  voice,  "  I 
must  have  been  under  the  power  of  a  spirit ;  for  indeed 
we  reached  the  summit  of  the  Ice-Cap." 

"  This  is  really  serious,"  said  Monsieur  Becker. 
"  Minna  is  alwa3's  truthful." 

"  Monsieur  Becker,"  said  Wilfrid,  "  I  swear  to  you 


94  Seraphita. 

that  Seraphita  exercises  such  extraordinary  power  over 
me  that  I  know  no  language  in  which  I  can  give  3'ou 
the  least  idea  of  it.  She  has  revealed  to  me  things 
known  to  mj-self  alone." 

"  Somnambulism  !  "  said  the  old  man.  "  A  great 
many  such  effects  are  related  by  Jean  Wier  as  phe- 
nomena easily  explained  and  formerly  observed  in 
Egypt." 

"  Lend  me  Swedenborg's  theosophical  works,"  said 
Wilfrid,  "  and  let  me  plunge  into  those  gulfs  of 
light, — you  have  given  me  a  thirst  for  them." 

Monsieur  Becker  took  down  a  volume  and  gave  it 
to  his  guest,  who  instantly  began  to  read  it.  It  was 
about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening.  The  serving-woman 
brought  in  the  supper.  Minna  made  tea.  The  repast 
over,  each  returned  silently  to  his  or  her  occupation ; 
the  pastor  read  the  Incantations ;  Wilfrid  pursued  the 
spirit  of  Swedenborg  ;  and  the  young  girl  continued  to 
sew,  her  mind  absorbed  in  recollections.  It  was  a  true 
Norwegian  evening  —  peaceful,  studious,  and  domestic  ; 
full  of  thoughts,  flowers  blooming  beneath  the  snow. 
Wilfrid,  as  he  devoured  the  pages  of  the  prophet,  lived 
b}'  his  inner  senses  only ;  the  pastor,  looking  up  at 
times  from  his  book,  called  Minna's  attention  to  the 
absorption  of  their  guest  with  an  air  that  was  half- 
serious,  half-jesting.  To  Minna's  thoughts  the  face 
of  Seraphitus  smiled  upon  her  as  it  hovered  above  the 
clouds  of  smoke  which  enveloped  them.  The  clock 
struck  twelve.  Suddenh'  the  outer  door  was  opened 
violently.     Heavy  but   hurried   steps,   the   steps  of  a 


Seraphita.  96 

terrified  old  man,  were  heard  in  the  narrow  vestibule  be- 
tween the  two  doors ;  then  David  burst  into  the  parlor. 

'•  Danger  !  danger !  "  he  cried.  "  Come  !  come,  all ! 
The  evil  spirits  are  unchained  !  Fiery  mitres  are  on 
their  heads  !  Demons,  Vertumni,  Sirens  !  the}'  tempt 
her  as  Jesus  was  tempted  on  the  mountain !  Come, 
come  I  and  drive  them  away." 

"  Do  ^'ou  not  recognize  the  language  of  Sweden- 
borg?"  said  the  pastor,  laughing,  to  Wilfrid.  "Here 
it  is  ;  pure  from  the  source." 

But  Wilfrid  and  Minna  were  gazing  in  terror  at  old 
Da^^d,  who,  with  hair  erect,  and  e3'es  distraught,  his 
legs  trembling  and  covered  with  snow,  for  he  had  come 
without  snow-shoes,  stood  swaying  from  side  to  side, 
as  if  some  boisterous  wind  were  shaking  him. 

"  Is  he  harmed?"  cried  Minna. 

' '  The  devils  hope  and  try  to  conquer  her,"  replied 
the  old  man. 

The  words  made  Wilfrid's  pulses  throb. 

"  For  the  last  five  hours  she  has  stood  erect,  her  e^^es 
raised  to  heaven  and  her  arms  extended ;  she  sufll'ers, 
she  cries  to  God.  I  cannot  cross  the  barrier ;  Hell 
has  posted  the  Vertumni  as  sentinels.  They  have  set 
up  an  iron  wall  between  her  and  her  old  David.  She 
wants  me,  but  what  can  I  do?  Oh,  help  me  !  help  me  ! 
Come  and  pra}^ !  " 

The  old  man's  despair  was  terrible  to  see. 

"  The  Light  of  God  is  defending  her,"  he  went  on,  with 
infectious  faith,  "  but  oh  !  she  might  yield  to  violence." 

"  Silence,  David  !  you  are  raving.     This  is  a  matter 


96  Seraphita. 

to  be  verified.  We  will  go  with  you,"  said  the  pastor, 
"and  3'ou  shall  see  that  there  are  no  Vertumni,  nor 
Satans,  nor  Sirens,  in  that  house." 

"  Your  father  is  blind,"  whispered  David  to  Minna. 
Wilfrid,  on  whom  the  reading  of  Swedenborg's  first 
treatise,  which  he  had  rapidly  gone  through,  had  pro- 
duced a  powerful  effect,  was  already  in  the  corridor 
putting  on  his  skees ;  Minna  was  ready  in  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  both  left  the  old  men  far  behind  as  they 
darted  forward  to  the  Swedish  castle. 

"  Do  you  hear  that  cracking  sound?  "  said  Wilfrid. 
"  The  ice  of  the  fiord  stirs,"  answered  Minna ;  "  the 
spring  is  coming." 

Wilfrid  was  silent.  When  the  two  reached  the  court- 
3'ard  the}''  were  conscious  that  they  had  neither  the 
faculty  nor  the  strength  to  enter  the  house. 
"  What  think  you  of  her?"  asked  Wilfrid. 
"See  that  radiance !"  cried  Minna,  going  towards 
the  window  of  the  salon.  "  He  is  there  !  How  beau- 
tiful !     O  my  Seraphitus,  take  me  !  " 

The  exclamation  was  uttered  inwardly.  She  saw 
Seraphitus  standing  erect,  lightly  swathed  in  an  opal- 
tinted  mist  that  disappeared  at  a  little  distance  from 
the  body,  which  seemed  almost  phosphorescent. 
"  How  beautiful  she  is  !  "  cried  Wilfrid,  mentall}'. 
Just  then  Monsieur  Becker  arrived,  followed  by 
David ;  he  saw  his  daughter  and  guest  standing  before 
the  window ;  going  up  to  them,  he  looked  into  the 
salon  and  said  quietly,  "  Well,  my  good  David,  she  is 
only  saying  her  prayers." 


^eraphita.  97 

"  Ah,  but  try  to  enter,  Monsieur." 

«  Why  disturb  those  who  pray  ?  "  answered  the  pastor. 

At  this  instant  the  moon,  rising  above  the  Falber^y. 
cast  its  rays  upon  the  window.  All  three  turned  round, 
attracted  by  this  natural  effect  which  made  them  quiver ; 
when  they  turned  back  to  again  look  at  Seraphita  she 
had  disappeared. 

"  How  strange  !  "  exclaimed  Wilfrid. 

"  I  hear  delightful  sounds,"  said  Minna. 

"Well,"  said  the  pastor,  "it  is  all  plain  enough; 
she  is  going  to  bed." 

David  had  entered  the  house.  The  others  took  their 
way  back  in  silence ;  none  of  them  interpreted  the 
vision  in  the  same  manner,  —  Monsieur  Becker  doubted, 
Minna  adored,  Wilfrid  longed. 

Wilfrid  was  a  man  about  thirtj^-six  years  of  age.  His 
figure,  though  broadly  developed,  was  not  wanting  in 
symmetry.  Like  most  men  who  distinguish  themselves 
above  their  fellows,  he  was  of  medium  height ;  his  chest 
and  shoulders  were  broad,  and  his  neck  short,  —  a  char- 
acteristic of  those  whose  hearts  are  near  their  heads  ;  his 
hair  was  black,  thick,  and  fine  ;  his  eyes,  of  a  yellow 
brown,  had,  as  it  were,  a  solar  brilliancy,  which  pro- 
claimed with  what  avidity  his  nature  aspired  to  Light. 
Though  these  strong  and  virile  features  were  defective 
through  the  absence  of  an  inward  peace,  —  granted 
only  to  a  life  without  storms  or  conflicts,  —  they  plainly 
showed  the  inexhaustible  resources  of  impetuous  senses 
and  the  appetites  of  instinct ;  just  as  every  motion  re- 
vealed the  perfection  of  the  man's  physical  apparatus,  the 


98  SerapMta. 

flexibility  of  Ms  senses,  and  their  fidelity  when  brought 
into  play.  This  man  might  contend  with  savages,  and 
hear,  as  they  do,  the  tread  of  enemies  in  distant  for- 
ests ;  he  could  follow  a  scent  in  the  air,  a  trail  on  the 
ground,  or  see  on  the  horizon  the  signal  of  a  friend. 
His  sleep  was  light,  like  that  of  all  creatures  who  will 
not  allow  themselves  to  be  surprised.  His  body  came 
quickly  into  harmony  with  the  climate  of  any  country 
where  his  tempestuous  life  conducted  him.  Art  and 
science  would  have  admired  his  organization  in  the 
light  of  a  human  model.  Everything  about  him  was 
symmetrical  and  well-balanced,  —  action  and  heart,  in- 
telligence and  will.  At  first  sight  he  might  be  classed 
among  purely  instinctive  beings,  who  give  themselves 
blindly  up  to  the  material  wants  of  life  ;  but  in  the  very 
morning  of  his  days  he  had  flung  himself  into  a  higher 
social  world,  with  which  his  feelings  harmonized  ;  study 
had  widened  his  mind,  reflection  had  sharpened  his 
power  of  thought,  and  the  sciences  had  enlarged  his 
understanding.  He  had  studied  human  laws, — the 
working  of  self-interests  brought  into  conflict  by  the 
passions,  and  he  seemed  to  have  early  familiarized 
himself  with  the  abstractions  on  which  societies  rest. 
He  had  pored  over  books,  —  those  deeds  of  dead  hu- 
manity ;  he  had  spent  whole  nights  of  pleasure  in  every 
European  capital ;  he  had  slept  on  fields  of  battle  the 
night  before  the  combat  and  the  night  that  followed 
victory.  His  stormy  youth  may  have  flung  him  on  the 
deck  of  some  corsair  and  sent  him  among  the  contrast- 
ing regions  of  the  globe  ;  thus  it  w  as  that  he  knew  the 


Seraphita.  99 

actions  of  a  living  humanitj-.  He  knew  the  present 
and  the  past,  —  a  double  histor}' ;  that  of  to-day,  that  of 
other  da^-s.  Many  men  have  been,  like  Wilfrid,  equally 
powerful  by  the  Hand,  by  the  Heart,  by  the  Head ; 
like  him,  the  majority  have  abused  their  triple  power. 
But  though  this  man  still  held  b}-  certain  outward  liens 
to  the  slimy  side  of  humanity,  he  belonged  also  and 
positively  to  the  sphere  where  force  is  intelligent.  In 
spite  of  the  many  veils  which  enveloped  his  soul,  there 
were  certain  ineffable  symptoms  of  this  fact  which  were 
visible  to  pure  spirits,  to  the  eyes  of  the  child  whose 
innocence  has  known  no  breath  of  evil  passions,  to  the 
eyes  of  the  old  man  who  has  lived  to  regain  his  purit}'. 

These  signs  revealed  a  Cain  for  whom  there  was  still 
hope,  —  one  who  seemed  as  though  he  were  seeking 
absolution  from  the  ends  of  the  earth.  Minna  sus- 
pected the  galley-slave  of  glory  in  the  man  ;  Seraphita 
recognized  him.  Both  admired  and  both  pitied  him. 
Whence  came  their  prescience?  Nothing  could  be 
more  simple  nor  yet  more  extraordinary.  As  soon 
as  we  seek  to  penetrate  the  secrets  of  Nature,  where 
nothing  is  secret,  and  where  it  is  only  necessary  to  have 
the  eyes  to  see,  we  perceive  that  the  simple  produces 
the  marvellous. 

"  Seraphitus,"  said  Minna  one  evening  a  few  days 
after  Wilfrid's  arrival  in  Jarvis,  "you  read  the  soul  of 
this  stranger  while  I  have  only  vague  impressions  of  it. 
He  chills  me  or  else  he  excites  me ;  but  j'ou  seem  to 
know  the  cause  of  this  cold  and  of  this  heat ;  tell  me 
what  it  means,  for  you  know  all  about  him." 


100  Seraphita. 

"  Yes,   I  have  seen  the  causes,"  said  Seraphitus, 
lowering  his  large  eyelids. 

" By  what  power?"  asked  the  curious  Minna. 

"  I  have  the  gift  of  SpeciaUsm,"  he  answered.  "  Spe- 
cialism is  an  inward  sight  which  can  penetrate  all  things  ; 
you  will  only  understand  its  full  meaning  through  a  com- 
parison. In  the  great  cities  of  Europe  where  works  are 
produced  by  which  the  human  Hand  seeks  to  represent 
the  effects  of  the  moral  nature  as  well  as  those  of  the 
physical  nature,  there  are  glorious  men  who  express 
ideas  in  marble.  The  sculptor  acts  on  the  stone  ;  he 
fashions  it ;  he  puts  a  realm  of  ideas  into  it.  There  are 
statues  which  the  hand  of  man  has  endowed  with  the 
faculty  of  representing  the  whole  noble  side  of  humanity, 
or  the  whole  evil  side  ;  most  men  see  in  such  marbles  a 
human  figure  and  nothing  more ;  a  few  other  men,  a 
little  higher  in  the  scale  of  being,  perceive  a  fraction  of 
the  thoughts  expressed  in  the  statue  ;  but  the  Initiates 
in  the  secrets  of  art  are  of  the  same  intellect  as  the 
sculptor;  they  see  in  his  work  the  whole  universe  of 
his  thought.  Such  persons  are  in  themselves  the  prin- 
ciples of  art ;  the}"  bear  within  them  a  mirror  which  re- 
flects nature  in  her  slightest  manifestations.  Well !  so 
it  is  with  me  ;  I  have  within  me  a  mirror  before  which 
the  moral  nature,  with  its  causes  and  its  eflects,  appears 
and  is  reflected.  Entering  thus  into  the  consciousness 
of  others  I  am  able  to  divine  both  the  future  and  the 
past.  How  ?  do  you  still  ask  how  ?  Imagine  that  the 
marble  statue  is  the  body  of  a  man,  a  piece  of  statuary 
in  which  we  see  the  emotion,  sentiment,  passion,  vice 


Seraphita.  101 

or  crime,  virtue  or  repentance  which  the  creating  hand 
has  put  into  it,  and  you  will  then  comprehend  how  it 
is  that  I  read  the  soul  of  this  foreigner  —  though  what 
I  have  said  does  not  explain  the  gift  of  Specialism ; 
for  to  conceive  the  nature  of  that  gift  we  must 
possess  it." 

Though  Wilfrid  belonged  to  the  two  first  divisions  of 
humanit}',  the  men  of  force  and  the  men  of  thought,  j'et 
his  excesses,  his  tumultuous  life,  and  his  misdeeds  had 
often  turned  him  towards  Faith ;  for  doubt  has  two 
sides ;  a  side  to  the  light  and  a  side  to  the  darkness. 
Wilfrid  had  too  closely  clasped  the  world  under  its 
forms  of  Matter  and  of  Mind  not  to  have  acquired  that 
thirst  for  the  unknown,  that  longing  to  go  beyond  which 
lay  their  grasp  upon  the  men  who  know,  and  wish,  and 
will.  But  neither  his  knowledge,  nor  his  actions,  nor 
his  will,  had  found  direction.  He  had  fled  from  social 
life  from  necessity  ;  as  a  great  criminal  seeks  the  clois- 
ter. Remorse,  that  virtue  of  weak  beings,  did  not 
touch  him.  Remorse  is  impotence,  impotence  which 
sins  again.  Repentance  alone  is  powerful ;  it  ends  all. 
But  in  traversing  the  world,  which  he  made  his  cloister, 
Wilfrid  had  found  no  balm  for  his  wounds ;  he  saw 
nothing  in  nature  to  which  he  could  attach  himself.  In 
him,  despair  had  dried  the  sources  of  desire.  He  was 
one  of  those  beings  who,  having  gone  through  all 
passions  and  come  out  victorious,  have  nothing  more  to 
raise  in  their  hot-beds,  and  who,  lacking  opportunity  to 
put  themselves  at  the  head  of  their  fellow-men  to  trample 
under  iron  heel  entire  populations,  buy,  at  the  price  of 


102  Seraphita. 

a  horrible  martyrdom,  the  faculty  of  ruining  themselves 
in  some  belief,  —  rocks  sublime,  which  await  the  touch 
of  a  wand  that  comes  not  to  bring  the  waters  gushing 
from  their  far-off  springs. 

Led  by  a  scheme  of  his  restless,  inquiring  life  to  the 
shores  of  Norway,  the  sudden  arrival  of  winter  had  de- 
tained the  wanderer  at  Jarvis.  The  day  on  which,  for 
the  first  time,  he  saw  Seraphita,  the  whole  past  of  his 
life  faded  from  his  mind.  The  young  girl  excited  emo- 
tions which  he  had  thought  could  never  be  revived. 
The  ashes  gave  forth  a  lingering  flame  at  the  first  mur- 
murings  of  that  voice.  Who  has  ever  felt  himself  return 
to  3'outh  and  purity  after  growing  cold  and  numb  with 
age  and  soiled  with  impurity?  Suddenjj',  Wilfrid  loved 
as  he  had  .neyei  lovedj^e  loved^ecretly,  with  faith, 
with  fear,  with  inward  madness.  His  life  was  stirred 
to  the  very  source  of  being  at  the  mere  thought  of 
seeing  Seraphita.  As  he  listened  to  her  he  was  trans- 
ported into  unknown  worlds ;  he  was  mute  before  her, 
she  magnetized  him.  There,  beneath  the  snows,  among 
the  glaciers,  bloomed  the  celestial  flower  to  which  his 
hopes,  so  long  betrayed,  aspired ;  the  sight  of  which 
awakened  ideas  of  freshness,  purit}',  and  faith  which 
grouped  about  his  soul  and  lifted  it  to  higher  regions,  — 
as  Angels  bear  to  heaven  the  Elect  in  those  symbolic 
pictures  inspired  by  the  guardian  spu-it  of  a  great  master. 
Celestial  perfumes  softened  the  granite  hardness  of  the 
rocky  scene  ;  light  endowed  with  speech  shed  its  divine 
melodies  on  the  path  of  him  who  looked  to  heaven. 
After  emptying  the  cup  of  terrestrial  love  which  his 


SerapTiita.  103 

teeth  had  bitten  as  he  drank  it,  he  saw  before  him  the 
chalice  of  salvation  where  the  limpid  waters  sparkled, 
making  thirsty  for  ineffable  delights  whoever  dare  appl}- 
his  lips  burning  with  a  faith  so  strong  that  the  crystal 
shall  not  be  shattered. 

But  Wilfrid  now  encountered  the  wall  of  brass  for 
which  he  had  been  seeking  up  and  down  the  earth. 
He  went  impetuousl}'  to  Seraphita,  meaning  to  express 
the  whole  force  and  bearing  of  a  passion  under  which 
he  bounded  like  the  fabled  horse  beneath  the  iron 
horseman,  firm  in  his  saddle,  whom  nothing  moves 
while  the  efforts  of  the  fiery  animal  only  made  the 
rider  heavier  and  more  solid.  He  sought  her  to  re- 
late his  life, — to  prove  the  grandeur  of  his  soul  by 
the  grandeur  of  his  faults,  to  show  the  ruins  of  his 
desert.  But  no  sooner  had  he  crossed  her  threshold, 
and  found  himself  within  the  zone  of  those  ej-es  of 
scintillating  azure,  that  met  no  limits  forward  and  left 
none  behind,  than  he  grew  calm  and  submissive,  as  a 
lion,  springing  on  his  prey  in  the  plains  of  Africa,  re- 
ceives from  the  wings  of  the  wind  a  message  of  love, 
and  stops  his  bound.  A  gulf  opened  before  him,  into 
which  his  frenzied  words  fell  and  disappeared,  and  from 
which  uprose  a  voice  which  changed  his  being ;  he  be- 
came as  a  child,  a  child  of  sixteen,  timid  and  fright- 
ened before  this  maiden  with  serene  brow,  this  white 
figure  whose  inalterable  calm  was  like  the  cruel  im- 
passibility of  human  justice.  The  combat  between  them 
had  never  ceased  until  this  evening,  when  with  a  glance 
she  brought  him  down,  as  a  falcon  making  his  dizzy 


104  Seraphita. 

spirals  in  the   air  around  his  prey  causes  it  to  fall 
stupefied  to  earth,  before  carrying  it  to  his  eyrie. 

We  may  note  within  ourselves  many  a  long  struggle 
the  end  of  which  is  one  of  our  own  actions,  —  struggles 
which  are,  as  it  were,  the  reverse  side  of  humanity. 
This  reverse  side  belongs  to  God ;  the  obverse  side  to 
men.  More  than  once  Seraphita  had  proved  to  Wilfrid 
that  she  knew  this  hidden  and  ever  varied  side,  which  is 
to  the  majority  of  men  a  second  being.  Often  she  said 
to  hira  in  her  dove-like  voice:  "Why  all  this  vehe- 
mence ?  "  when  on  his  way  to  her  he  had  sworn  she  should 
be  his.  Wilfrid  was,  however,  strong  enough  to  raise 
the  cry  of  revolt  to  which  he  had  given  utterance  in 
Monsieur  Becker's  study.  The  narrative  of  the  old 
pastor  had  calmed  him.  Sceptical  and  derisive  as  he 
was,  he  saw  belief  like  a  sidereal  brilliance  dawn- 
ing on  his  life.  He  asked  himself  if  Seraphita  were 
not  an  exile  from  the  higher  spheres  seeking  the  home- 
ward way.  The  fanciful  deifications  of  all  ordinary 
lovers  he  could  not  give  to  this  lily  of  Norway  in 
whose  divinity  he  believed.  Why  lived  she  here  be- 
side this  fiord?  What  did  she?  Questions  that  re- 
ceived no  answer  filled  his  mind.  Above  all,  what 
was  about  to  happen  between  them?  What  fate  had 
brought  him  there?  To  him,  Seraphita  was  the  motion- 
less marble,  light  nevertheless  as  a  vapor,  which  Minna 
had  seen  that  day  poised  above  the  precipices  of  the 
Falberg.  Could  she  thus  stand  on  the  edge  of  all 
gulfs  without  danger,  without  a  tremor  of  the  arching 
eyebrows,  or   a  quiver  of  the  light   of  the   eye?     If 


Seraphita.  105 

his  love  was  to  be  without  hope,  it  was  not  without 
curiosity'. 

From  the  moment  when  Wilfrid  suspected  the  ethe- 
real nature  of  the  enchantress  who  had  told  him  the 
secrets  of  his  life  in  melodious  utterance,  he  had  longed 
to  try  to  subject  her,  to  keep  her  to  himself,  to  tear  her 
from  the  heaven  where,  perhaps,  she  was  awaited. 
Earth  and  Humanity  seized  their  prej' ;  he  would  imi- 
tate them.  His  pride,  the  only  sentiment  through 
which  man  can  long  be  exalted,  would  make  him  happy 
in  this  triumph  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  The  idea  sent 
the  blood  boiling  through  his  veins,  and  his  heart 
swelled.  If  he  did  not  succeed,  he  would  destroy 
her,  —  it  is  so  natural  to  destroy  that  which  we  cannot 
possess,  to  deny  what  we  cannot  comprehend,  to  insult 
that  which  we  envy. 

On  the  morrow,  Wilfrid,  filled  with  ideas  which  the 
extraordinary'  events  of  the  previous  night  naturally 
awakened  in  his  mind,  resolved  to  question  David,  and 
went  to  find  him  on  pretext  of  asking  after  Seraphita's 
health.  Though  Monsieur  Becker  spoke  of  the  old  ser- 
vant as  falling  into  dotage,  Wilfrid  relied  on  his  own 
perspicacity  to  discover  scraps  of  truth  in  the  torrent 
of  the  old  man's  rambling  talk. 

David  had  the  immovable,  undecided,  phj-siognomy 
of  an  octogenarian.  Under  his  white  hair  lay  a  fore- 
head lined  with  wrinkles  like  the  stone  courses  of  a 
ruined  wall ;  and  his  face  was  furrowed  like  the  bed 
of  a  dried-up  torrent.  His  life  seemed  to  have  re- 
treated wholly  to   the   eyes,   where   light  still   shone. 


106  SerapMta. 

though  its  gleams  were  obscured  by  a  mistiness  which 
seemed  to  indicate  either  an  active  mental  alienation 
or  the  stupid  stare  of  drunkenness.  His  slow  and 
heavy  movements  betrayed  the  glacial  weight  of  age, 
and  communicated  an  icy  influence  to  whoever  allowed 
themselves  to  look  long  at  him,  —  for  he  possessed  the 
magnetic  force  of  torpor.  His  limited  intelligence  was 
onl}'  roused  by  the  sight,  the  hearing,  or  the  recollec- 
tion of  his  mistress.  She  was  the  soul  of  this  wholly 
material  fragment  of  an  existence.  Any  one  seeing 
David  alone  by  himself  would  have  thought  him  a 
corpse ;  let  Seraphita  enter,  let  her  voice  be  heard,  or 
a  mention  of  her  be  made,  and  the  dead  came  forth 
from  his  grave  and  recovered  speech  and  motion. 
The  dry  bones  were  not  more  truly  awakened  by  the 
divine  breath  in  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  and  never 
was  that  apocalyptic  vison  better  realized  than  in  this 
Lazarus  issuing  from  the  sepulchre  into  life  at  the 
voice  of  a  j'oung  girl.  His  language,  which  was  al- 
ways figurative  and  often  incomprehensible,  prevented 
the  inhabitants  of  the  village  from  talking  with  him ; 
but  they  respected  a  mind  that  deviated  so  utterly 
from  common  ways,  —  a  thing  which  the  masses  in- 
stinctively admire. 

Wilfrid  found  him  in  the  antechamber,  apparently 
asleep  beside  the  stove.  Like  a  dog  who  recognizes 
a  friend  of  the  family,  the  old  man  raised  his  eyes,  saw 
the  foreigner,  and  did  not  stir. 

"Where  is  she?"  inquired  Wilfrid,  sitting  down 
beside  him. 


Seraphita.  107 

David  fluttered  his  fingers  in  the  air  as  if  to  express 
the  flight  of  a  bird. 

"  Does  she  still  sufler?"  asked  Wilfrid. 

"  Beings  vowed  to  Heaven  are  able  so  to  suffer 
that  suflering  does  not  lessen  their  love ;  this  is  the 
mark  of  the  true  faith,"  answered  the  old  man,  sol- 
emnly, Kke  an  instrument  which,  on  being  touched, 
gives  forth  an  accidental  note. 

"  Who  taught  you  those  words? " 

"  The  Spirit." 

"  What  happened  to  her  last  night?  Did  you  force 
your  way  past  the  Vertumni  standing  sentinel?  did 
you  evade  the  Mammons  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  "  answered  David,  as  though  awaking  from  a 
dream. 

The  misty  gleam  of  his  eyes  melted  into  a  ray  that 
came  direct  from  the  soul  and  made  it  by  degrees 
brilliant  as  that  of  an  eagle,  as  intelligent  as  that  of 
a  poet. 

"  What  did  you  see?"  asked  Wilfrid,  astonished  at 
this  sudden  change. 

"  I  saw  Species  and  Shapes  ;  I  heard  the  Spirit  of  all 
things  ;  I  beheld  the  revolt  of  the  Evil  Ones  ;  I  listened 
to  the  words  of  the  Good.  Seven  devils  came,  and 
seven  archangels  descended  from  on  high.  The  arch- 
angels stood  apart  and  looked  on  through  veils.  The 
devils  were  close  by ;  they  shone,  they  acted.  Mam- 
mon came  on  his  pearly  shell  in  the  shape  of  a  beautiful 
naked  woman ;  her  snow}'  body  dazzled  the  e3'e,  no 
cuman   form   ever  equalled   it ;   and   he   said,   '  I  am 


108  Seraphita. 

Pleasure  ;  thou  shalt  possess  me  ! '  Lucifer,  prince  of 
serpents,  was  there  in  sovereign  robes ;  his  Manhood 
was  glorious  as  the  beauty  of  an  angel,  and  he  said, 
'  Humanity  shall  be  at  thy  feet ! '  The  Queen  of 
misers,  —  she  who  gives  back  naught  that  she  has  ever 
received,  —  the  Sea,  came  wrapped  in  her  virent  man- 
tle ;  she  opened  her  bosom,  she  showed  her  gems,  she 
brought  forth  her  treasures  and  offered  them  ;  waves  of 
sapphire  and  of  emerald  came  at  her  bidding ;  her 
hidden  wonders  stirred,  they  rose  to  the  surface  of  her 
breast,  they  spoke ;  the  rarest  pearl  of  Ocean  spread 
its  irridescent  wings  and  gave  voice  to  its  marine 
melodies,  saying,  '  Twin  daughter  of  suffering,  we  are 
sisters !  await  me ;  let  us  go  together ;  all  I  need 
is  to  become  a  Woman.'  The  Bird  with  the  wings  of 
an  eagle  and  the  paws  of  a  lion,  the  head  of  a  woman 
and  the  body  of  a  horse,  the  Animal,  fell  down  before 
her  and  licked  her  feet,  and  promised  seven  hundred 
years  of  plenty  to  her  best-beloved  daughter.  Then 
came  the  most  formidable  of  all,  the  Child,  weeping 
at  her  knees,  and  saving,  '  Wilt  thou  leave  me,  feeble 
and  suffering  as  I  am  ?  oh,  my  mother,  staj^ ! '  and  he 
played  with  her,  and  shed  languor  on  the  air,  and  the 
Heavens  themselves  had  pity  for  his  wail.  The  Virgin 
of  pure  song  brought  forth  her  choirs  to  relax  the  soul. 
The  Kings  of  the  East  came  with  their  slaves,  their 
armies,  and  their  women ;  the  Wounded  asked  her  for 
succor,  the  Sorrowful  stretched  forth  their  hands  :  '  Do 
not  leave  us !  do  not  leave  us ! '  they  cried.  I,  too,  I 
cried,    '  Do  not    leave    us!    we   adore    thee  I     stay!' 


Seraphita,  109 

Flowers,  bursting  from  the  seed,  bathed  her  in  their 
fragrance  which  uttered,  '  Stay  ! '     The  giant  Enakim 
came  forth  from  Jupiter,  leading  Gold  and  its  friends 
and  all   the  Spirits  of  the  Astral   Regions  which  are 
joined   with   him,  and  they  said,    '  We  are  thine   for 
seven  hundred  years.'     At  last  came  Death  on  his  pale 
horse,  crying,  '  I  will   obey  thee  ! '      One  and  all  feU 
prostrate  before  her.     Could  you  but  have  seen  them  ! 
They  covered  as  it  were  a  vast  plain,  and  they  cried 
aloud  to  her,   '  We  have   nurtured   thee,  thou  art  our 
child ;  do  not   abandon  us ! '      At  length  Life   issued 
from   her   Ruby  Waters,  and  said,   '  I  will  not  leave 
thee ! '  then,  finding  Seraphita  silent,  she  flamed  upon 
her  as  the  sun,  crying  out,  '  I  am  light ! '     '  The  Light 
is  there  ! '  cried  Seraphita,  pointing  to  the  clouds  where 
stood  the  archangels  ;  but  she  was  wearied  out ;  Desire 
had  wrung  her  nerves,  she  could  only  cry,  '  My  God  ! 
my  God  ! '     Ah !  many  an  Angelic  Spirit,  scaling  the 
mountain  and  nigh  to  the  summit,  has  set  his  foot  upon 
a  rolling  stone  which  plunged  him  back  into  the  abyss  ! 
All  these  lost  Spirits  adored  her  constanc}- ;  they  stood 
around  her,  —  a  choir  without  a  song,  —  weeping  and 
whispering,  '  Courage  !  '     At  last  she  conquered  ;    De- 
sire —  let   loose   upon   her  in  every  Shape  and  every 
Species  —  was  vanquished.     She  stood  in  praj'er,  and 
when  at  last  her  ej-es  were  lifted  she  saw  the  feet  of 
Angels  circling  in  the  Heavens." 

"  She  saw  the  feet  of  Angels?  "  repeated  Wilfrid. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Was  it  a  dream  that  she  told  you?  "  asked  Wilfrid. 


110  Seraphita. 

"A  dream  as  real  as  your  life,"  answered  David; 
"  I  was  there." 

The  calm  assurance  of  the  old  servaut  affected  Wil- 
frid powerfully.  He  went  away  asking  himself  whether 
these  visions  were  an}'  less  extraordinary  than  those  he 
had  read  of  in  Swedenborg  the  night  before. 

"  If  Spirits  exist,  they  must  act,"  he  was  saving  to 
himself  as  he  entered  the  parsonage,  where  he  found 
Monsieur  Becker  alone. 

"  Dear  pastor,"  he  said,  "  Seraphita  is  connected 
with  us  in  form  only,  and  even  that  form  is  inexpli- 
cable. Do  not  think  me  a  madman  or  a  lover ;  a  pro- 
found conviction  cannot  be  argued  with.  Convert  my 
behef  into  scientific  theories,  and  let  us  try  to  enlighten 
each  other.  To-morrow  evening  we  shall  both  be  with 
her." 

"  What  then?  "  said  Monsieur  Becker. 

"  If  her  eye  ignores  space,"  replied  Wilfrid,  "  if  her 
thought  is  an  intelligent  sight  which  enables  her  to 
perceive  all  things  in  their  essence,  and  to  connect 
them  with  the  general  evolution  of  the  universe,  if,  in 
a  word,  she  sees  and  knows  all,  let  us  seat  the  Pytho- 
ness on  her  tripod,  let  us  force  this  pitiless  eagle  by 
threats  to  spread  its  wings !  Help  me !  I  breathe  a 
fire  which  burns  my  vitals  ;  I  must  quench  it  or  it  will 
consume  me.  I  have  found  a  prey  at  last,  and  it  shall 
be  mine ! " 

"  The  conquest  wOl  be  diflScult,"  said  the  pastor, 
*' because  this  girl  is  —  " 

"Is  what?"  cried  Wilfrid. 


Seraphita.  Ill 

"  Mad,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  I  will  not  dispute  her  madness,  but  neither  must 
you  dispute  her  wonderful  powers.  Dear  Monsieur 
Becker,  she  has  often  confounded  me  with  her  learnino-. 
Has  she  travelled  ?  " 

"  From  her  house  to  the  fiord,  no  further." 

"  Never  left  this  place  ! "  exclaimed  Wilfrid.  "Then 
she  must  have  read  immensel}'." 

"  Not  a  page,  not  one  iota !  I  am  the  onl}'  person 
who  possesses  any  books  in  Jarvis.  The  works  of 
Swedeuborg  — the  only  books  that  were  in  the  chateau 
—  you  see  before  you.  She  has  never  looked  into  a 
single  one-of  them." 

' '  Have  you  tried  to  talk  with  her  ?  " 

"  What  good  would  that  do?  " 

"  Does  no  one  live  with  her  in  that  house?  " 

"  She  has  no  friends  but  you  and  Minna,  nor  any 
servant  except  old  David." 

"  It  cannot  be  that  she  knows  nothing  of  science  nor 
of  art." 

"  Who  should  teach  her?  "  said  the  pastor. 

"  But  if  she  can  discuss  such  matters  pertinently, 
as  she  has  often  done  with  me,  what  do  you  make 
of  it?" 

"  The  girl  ma}'  have  acquired  through  years  of  silence 
the  faculties  enjoyed  b}'  Apollonius  of  Tyana  and  other 
pretended  sorcerers  burned  by  the  Inquisition,  which 
did  not  choose  to  admit  the  fact  of  second-sight. 

"  If  she  can  speak  Arabic,  what  would  you  say  to 
that?" 


112  Seraphita. 

"  The  histor}-  of  medical  science  gives  many  authentic 
instances  of  girls  who  have  spoken  languages  entirely 
unknown  to  them." 

"  What  can  I  do?"  exclaimed  Wilfrid.  "  She  knows 
of  secrets  in  my  past  life  known  only  to  me." 

"  I  shall  be  curious  to  see  if  she  can  tell  me  thoughts 
that  I  have  confided  to  no  living  person,"  said  Monsieur 
Becker. 

Minna  entered  the  room. 

"  Well,  my  daughter,  and  how  is  your  familiar 
spirit?" 

"  He  suffers,  father,"  she  answered,  bowing  to  Wil- 
frid. "  Human  passions,  clothed  in  their  false  riches, 
surrounded  him  all  night,  and  showed  him  all  the  glories 
of  the  world.     But  you  think  these  things  mere  tales." 

"  Tales  as  beautiful  to  those  who  read  them  in  their 
brains  as  the  '  Arabian  Nights '  to  common  minds,"  said 
the  pastor,  smiling. 

"  Did  not  Satan  carry  our  Saviour  to  the  pinnacle 
of  the  Temple,  and  show  him  all  the  kingdoms  of  the 
world  ?  "  she  said. 

"  The  Evangelists,"  replied  her  father,  "  did  not 
correct  their  copies  very  carefully',  and  several  versions 
are  in  existence." 

"  You  believe  in  the  reality  of  these  visions?"  said 
Wilfrid  to  Minna. 

"  Who  can  doubt  when  he  relates  them." 

"  He?  "  demanded  Wilfrid.     "  Who?  " 

"  He  who  is  there,"  replied  Minna,  motioning  towards 
the  chateau. 


Seraphita.  IIS 

**  Are  you  speaking  of  Serapliita?  "  he  said. 

The  young  girl  bent  her  head,  and  looked  at  him  with 
an  expression  of  gentle  mischief. 

"  You  too !  "  exclaimed  Wilfrid,  "  you  take  pleasure 
in  confounding  me.  Who  and  what  is  she?  What  do 
you  think  of  her?" 

"  What  I  feel  is  inexplicable,"  said  Minna,  blushing. 

*'  You  are  all  crazy  !  "  cried  the  pastor. 

*'  Farewell,  until  to-morrow  evening,"  said  Wilfrid. 


114  Seraphita, 


IV.  \ 

THE   CLOUDS   OF   THE   SANCTUARY. 

There  are  pageants  in  which  all  the  material  splen- 
dors that  man  arra3'S  co-operate.  Nations  of  slaves  anci 
divers  have  searched  the  sands  of  ocean  and  the  bowels 
of  earth  for  the  pearls  and  diamonds  which  adorn  the 
spectators.  Transmitted  as  heirlooms  from  generation 
to  generation,  these  treasures  have  shone  on  consecrated 
brows  and  could  be  the  most  faithful  of  historians  had 
they  speech.  They  know  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  the 
great  and  those  of  the  small.  Everywhere  do  they  go  ; 
they  are  worn  with  pride  at  festivals,  carried  in  despair 
to  usurers,  borne  off  in  triumph  amid  blood  and  pillage, 
enshrined  in  masterpieces  conceived  by  art  for  their 
protection.  Noiie,  except  the  pearl  of  Cleopatra,  has 
been  lost.  The  Great  and  the  Fortunate  assemble  to 
witness  the  coronation  of  some  king,  whose  trappings 
are  the  work  of  men's  hands,  bi^t  the  purple  of  whose 
raimentis^figs^^gloriiiuja  than  that  of  tl^p  "Br^wprs  of  i^e 
field.  These  festivals,  splendid  in  light,  bathed  in 
music  which  the  hand  of  man  creates,  aye,  all  the 
triumphs  of  that  hand  are  subdued  b}"  a  thought,  VV 
crushed  by  a  sentiment.  The  Mind  can  illumine  in  a 
I  /  man  and  round  a  man  a  light  more  vivid,  can  open  his 
Lj€ar  to  more  melodious  harmonies,  can   seat   him   on 


Seraphita.  jj^ 

clouds  of  shining  constellations  and  teach  him  to  ques- 
tion  them.      The  Heart  can   do   still  greater   things. 
Man  may  come  into  the  presence  of  one  sole  being  a°nd 
find  in  a  single  word,  a  single  look,  an  influence  so 
weighty  to  bear,  of  so  luminous  a  light,  so  penetrating 
a  sound,  that  he  succumbs  and  kneels  before  it.     The 
most  real  of  all  splendors  are  not  in  outward  things,  ll 
/'/they  are  within  us.      A  single  secret  of  Science  is°  a 
realm  of  wonders  to  the  man   of  learning.      Do   the 
trumpets  of  Power,  the  jewels  of  Wealth,  the  music  of 
Joy,  or  a  vast  concourse  of  people  attend  his  mental 
festival?     No,  he  finds  his  glory  in  some  dim  retreat 
where,   perchance,   a  pallid  suffering  man   whispers  a 
single   word    into   his   ear;    that   word,    like   a   torch 
lighted  in  a  mine,  reveals  to  him  a  Science.    All  human 
ideas,  arrayed  in  every  attractive  form  which  Mystery 
can  invent  surrounded  a  blind  man  seated  in  a  wayside 
ditch.      Three  worlds,   the  Natural,   the  Spiritual,  the 
Divine,  with  all  their  spheres,  opened  their  portals  to  a 
Florentine  exile  ;  he  walked  attended  by  the  Hapi^y  and 
the  Unhappy;   by  those  who  prayed  and  those   who 
moaned  ;   by  angels  and  by  souls  in  hell.      When  the 
Sent  of  God,  who  knew  and  could  accomplish  all  things, 
appeared  to  three  of  his  disciples  it  was  at  eventide,  at 
the  common  table  of  the  humblest  of  inns ;  and  then/  ] 
and  there  the  Light  broke  forth,  shattering  Material/  ' 
Forms,  iUuminating  the  Spiritual  Faculties,  so  that  they^ 
saw  him  in  his  glory,  and  the  earth  lay  at  their  feet  liket  \ 
a  cast-ofi"  sandal. 

Monsieur  Becker,  Wilfrid,  and  Minna  were  all  under 


116  Seraphita. 

the  influence  of  fear  as  the}'  took  their  way  to  meet  the 
extraordinary  being  whom  each  desired  to  question. 
To  them,  in  their  several  ways,  the  Swedish  castle  had 
grown  to  mean  some  gigantic  representation,  some 
spectacle  like  those  whose  colors  and  masses  are  skil- 
fully and  harmoniously  marshalled  by  the  poets,  and 
whose  personages,  imaginary  actors  to  men,  are  real  to 
those  who  begin  to  penetrate  the  Spiritual  World.  On 
the  tiers  of  this  Coliseum  Monsieur  Becker  seated  the 
gray  legions  of  Doubt,  the  stern  ideas,  the  specious 
formulas  of  Dispute.  He  convoked  the  various  antago- 
nistic worlds  of  philosophy  and  religion,  and  they  all 
appeared,  in  the  guise  of  a  fleshless  shape,  like  that  in 
which  art  embodies  Time,  —  an  old  man  bearing  in  one 
hand  a  scythe,  in  the  other  a  broken  globe,  the  human 
universe. 

Wilfrid  had  bidden  to  the  scene  his  earliest  illusions 
and  his  latest  hopes,  human  destiny  and  its  conflicts, 
religion  and  its  conquering  powers. 

Minna  saw  heaven  confusedly  by  glimpses ;  love 
raised  a  curtain  wrought  with  mysterious  images,  and 
the  melodious  sounds  which  met  her  ear  redoubled  her 
curiosity. 

To  all  three,  therefore,  this  evening  was  to  be  what 
that  other  evening  had  been  for  the  pilgrims  to  Emmaiis, 
what  a  vision  was  to  Dante,  an  inspiration  to  Homer,  — • 
to  them,  three  aspects  of  the  world  revealed,  veils  rent 
away,  doubts  dissipated,  darkness  illumined.  Human- 
ity in  all  its  moods  expecting  light  could  not  be  better 
represented  than  here  by  this  young  girl,  this  man  in 


Seraphita.  117 

the  vigor  of  his  age,  and  these  old  men,  of  whom  one 
■was  learned  enough  to  doubt,  the  other  ignorant  enough 
to  believe.  Never  was  an3^  scene  more  simple  in  ap- 
pearance, nor  more  portentous  in  reality. 

When  the}'  entered  the  room,  ushered  in  by  old 
David,  they  found  Seraphita  standing  by  a  table  on 
which  were  served  the  various  dishes  which  compose  a 
"tea;"  a  form  of  collation  which  in  the  North  takes 
the  place  of  wine  and  its  pleasures,  —  reserved  more  ex- 
clusively for  Southern  climes.  Certainly  nothing  pro- 
claimed in  her,  or  in  him,  a  being  with  the  strange  power 
of  appearing  under  two  distinct  forms ;  nothing  about 
her  betrayed  the  manifold  powers  which  she  wielded. 
Lilie  a  careful  housewife  attending  to  the  comfort  of 
her  guests,  she  ordered  David  to  put  more  wood  into 
the  stove. 

"  Good  evening,  my  neighbors,"  she  said.  "  Dear 
Monsieur  Becker,  you  do  right  to  come ;  you  see  me 
living  for  the  last  time,  perhaps.  This  winter  has  killed 
me.  Will  3-ou  sit  there? "  she  said  to  Wilfrid.  "  And 
you,  Minna,  here?"  pointing  to  a  chair  beside  her.  "  I 
see  you  have  brought  your  embroider}'.  Did  you  invent 
that  stitch  ?  the  design  is  verj'^  pretty.  For  whom  is  it,  — 
your  father,  or  monsieur?  "  she  added,  turning  to  Wilfrid. 
"  Surely  we  ought  to  give  him,  before  we  part,  a  remem- 
brance of  the  daughters  of  Norway." 

"  Did  you  suffer  much  j-esterday  ?  "  asked  Wilfrid. 

"It  was  nothing,"  she  answered;  "the  suffering 
gladdened  me  ;  it  was  necessary,  to  enable  me  to  leave 
this  Ufe." 


118  Seraphita. 

"Then  death  does  not  alarm  you?"  said  Monsieur 
Becker,  smiling,  for  he  did  not  think  her  ill. 

"  No,  dear  pastor ;  there  are  two  ways  of  dying  :  to 
some,  death  is  victory,  to  others,  defeat." 

' '  Do  you  think  that  you  have  conquered  ?  "  asked 
Minna. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  "  perhaps  I  have  only 
taken  a  step  in  the  path." 

The  lustrous  splendor  of  her  brow  grew  dim,  her 
eyes  were  veiled  beneath  slow-dropping  lids ;  a  simple 
movement  which  affected  the  prying  guests  and  kept 
them  silent.  Monsieur  Becker  was  the  first  to  recover 
courage. 

"Dear  child,"  he  said,  "  j'ou  are  truth  itself,  and 
you  are  ever  kind.  I  would  ask  of  you  to-night  some- 
thing other  than  the  dainties  of  3'our  tea-table.  If  we 
may  believe  certain  persons,  j'ou  know  amazing  things  ; 
if  this  be  true,  would  it  not  be  charitable  in  vou  to  solve 
a  few  of  our  doubts  ?  " 

"Ah!"  she  said  smiling,  "I  walk  on  the  clouds. 
I  visit  the  depths  of  the  fiord  ;  the  sea  is  my  steed  and 
I  bridle  it ;  I  know  where  the  singing  flower  grows,  and 
the  talking  light  descends,  and  fragrant  colors  shine ! 
I  wear  the  seal  of  Solomon ;  I  am  a  fairy ;  I  cast  my 
orders  to  the  wind  which,  like  an  abject  slave,  fulfils 
them ;  my  eyes  can  pierce  the  earth  and  behold  its 
treasures ;  for  lo !  am  I  not  the  virgin  to  whom  the 
pearls  dart  from  their  ocean  depths  and — " 

"  —  who  led  me  safely  to  the  summit  of  the  Fal- 
berg?"  said  Minna,  interrupting  her. 


Seraphita.  jjq 

"Thou!  thou  too!"  exclaimed  the  strange  being 
with  a  luminous  glance  at  the  young  girl  which  fiUed 
her  soul  with  trouble.  "  Had  I  not  the  faculty  of  read- 
ing through  your  foreheads  the  desires  which  have 
brought  you  here,  should  I  be  what  you  think  I  am?" 
she  said,  encircling  aU  thi-ee  with  her  controUina  o-lance 
to  David's  great  satisfaction.  The  old  man  rubbled  his 
hands  with  pleasure  as  he  left  the  room. 

"Ah!"    she   resumed   after   a    pause,    "you    have 
come,  all  of  you,  with  the  curiosity  of  children.     You 
my  poor  Monsieur  Becker,  have  asked  yourself  how  it 
was  possible  that  a  girl  of  seventeen  should  know  even 
a  single  one  of  those  secrets  which  men  of  science  seek 
with  their  noses  to  the  earth,  -  instead  of  raising  their 
eyes  to  heaven.     Were  I  to  tell  you  how  and  a't  what 
pomt  the  plant   merges   into   the   animal  you  would 
begin   to   doubt  your   doubts.     You  have   plotted   to 
question  me;  you  will  admit  that?" 

"  Yes,  dear  Seraphita,"  answered  Wilfrid  ;  "but  the 
desire  is  a  natural  one  to  men,  is  it  not?  " 

"  You  will  bore  this  dear  child  with  such  topics,"  she 
said,  passing  her  hand  lightly  over  Minna's  hair  with  a 
caressing  gesture. 

The  young  girl  raised  her  eyes  and  seemed  as  though 
she  longed  to  lose  herself  in  him. 

"  Speech  is  the  endowment  of  us  all,"  resumed  the 
mysterious  creature,  gravely.  "Woe  to  him  who 
keeps  silence,  even  in  a  desert,  believing  that  no  one 
hears  him  ;  all  voices  speak  and  all  ears  listen  here  be- 
low.    Speech  moves  the  universe.     Monsieur  Becker, 


120  Seraphita. 

I  desire  to  say  nothing  unnecessarily.  I  know  the 
difficulties  that  beset  your  mind  ;  would  you  not  think 
it  a  miracle  if  I  were  now  to  lay  bare  the  past  history 
of  your  consciousness?  Well,  the  miracle  shall  be 
accomplished.  You  have  never  admitted  to  yourself 
the  fall  extent  of  j'our  doubts.  I  alone,  immovable  in 
my  faith,  I  can  show  it  to  you ;  I  can  terrify  you  with 
yourself. 

"  You  stand  on  the  darkest  side  of  Doubt.  You  do 
not  believe  in  God,  — although  you  know  it  not,  —  and 
all  things  here  below  are  secondary  to  him  who  rejects 
the  first  principle  of  things.  Let  us  leave  aside  the 
fruitless  discussions  of  false  philosophy.  The  spirit- 
ualist generations  made  as  man}-  and  as  vain  efforts 
to  den}'  Matter  as  the  materialist  generations  have 
made  to  den}^  Spirit.  "Why  such  discussions?  Does 
not  man  himself  offer  irrefragable  proof  of  both  sj's- 
tems?  Do  we  not  find  in  him  material  things  and 
spiritual  things?  None  but  a  madman  can  refuse  to 
see  in  the  human  body  a  fragment  of  Matter ;  j^our 
natural  sciences,  when  they  decompose  it,  find  little 
difference  between  its  elements  and  those  of  other 
animals.  On  the  other  hand,  the  idea  produced  in 
man  by  the  comparison  of  many  objects  has  never 
seemed  to  any  one  to  belong  to  the  domain  of  Mat- 
ter. As  to  this,  I  offer  no  opinion.  I  am  now  con- 
cerned with  your  doubts,  not  with  my  certainties.  To 
you,  as  to  the  majority  of  thinkers,  the  relations  be- 
tween things,  the  realit}'  of  which  is  proved  to  j'ou  by 
your  sensations  and  which  j'ou  possess  the  faculty  to 


tSeraphita.  121 

discover,  do  not  seem  Material.     The  Natural  universe 
of  things  and  beings  ends,  in  man,  with  the  Spiritual 
universe  of  similarities  or  differences  which  he  perceives 
among  the  innumerable  forms  of  Nature,  —  relations  so 
multiplied  as  to  seem  infinite  ;  for  if,  up  to  the  present 
time,  no  one  has  been  able  to  enumerate  the  separate 
terrestrial  creations,  who  can  reckon  their  correlations? 
Is  not  the  fraction  which  you  know,  in  relation  to  their 
totalitv,  what  a  single  number  is  to  infinity  ?    Here,  then, 
you  fall  into  a  perception  of  the  infinite  which  undoubt- 
edly obliges  you  to  conceive  of  a  purely  Spiritual  world. 
"  Thus  man  himself  offers  sufficient  proof  of  the  two 
orders,  —  Matter  and  Spirit.     In  him  culminates  a  visi- 
ble finite  universe ;  in  him  begins  a  universe  invisible 
and  infinite,  —  two   worlds   unknown   to   each   other. 
Have   the  pebbles  of  the  fiord  a  perception  of  their 
combined   being?    have  they   a   consciousness   of  the 
colors  the}'  present  to  the  eye  of  man  ?  do  they  hear  the 
music  of  the  waves  that  lap  them?    Let  us  therefore 
spring  over  and  not  attempt  to   sound   the   abysmal 
depths   presented   to    our    minds   in    the    union  of  a 
Material  universe  and  a  Spiritual  universe,  —  a  crea- 
tion visible,  ponderable,  tangible,  terminating  in  a  crea- 
tion   invisible,   imponderable,    intangible ;    completely 
dissimilar,  separated   by  the  void,  yet   united  by  in- 
disputable bonds  and  meeting  in  a  being  who  derives 
equally  from  the   one   and  from  the  other!     Let  us 
mingle  in  one  world  these  two  worlds,  absolutely  irrec- 
oncilable to  your  philosophies,  but  conjoined  by  fact. 
However  abstract  man  may  suppose  the  relation  which 


122  Seraphita. 

binds  two  things  together,  the  line  of  junction  is  per- 
ceptible- How  ?  Where  ?  We  are  not  now  in  search  of 
the  vanishing  point  where  Matter  subtilizes.  If  such 
were  the  question,  I  cannot  see  why  He  who  has,  by 
physical  relations,  studded  with  stars  at  immeasurable 
distances  the  heavens  which  veil  Him,  may  not  have 
created  solid  substances,  nor  why  you  deny  Him  the 
faculty  of  giving  a  body  to  thought. 

'<  Thus  your  invisible  moral  universe  and  your  visible 
phj^sical  universe  are  one  and  the  same  matter.  We 
will  not  separate  properties  from  substances,  nor  ob- 
jects from  effects.  All  that  exists,  all  that  presses  upon 
us  and  overwhelms  us  from  above  or  from  below,  before 
us  or  in  us,  all  that  which  our  eyes  and  our  minds  per- 
ceive, all  these  named  and  unnamed  things  compose  — 
in  order  to  fit  the  problem  of  Creation  to  the  measure 
of  your  logic  —  a  block  of  finite  Matter ;  but  were  it 
infinite,  God  would  still  not  be  its  master.  Now, 
reasoning  with  your  views,  dear  pastor,  no  matter  in 
what  way  God  the  infinite  is  concerned  with  this  block 
of  finite  Matter,  He  cannot  exist  and  retain  the  attri- 
butes with  which  man  invests  Him.  Seek  Him  in  facts, 
and  He  is  not ;  ask  reason  to  reveal  Him,  and  again 
He  is  not;  spirituall}'  and  materially,  you  have  made 
God  impossible.  Listen  to  the  Word  of  human  Reason 
forced  to  its  ultimate  conclusions. 

"  In  bringing  God  face  to  face  with  the  Great  Whole, 
we  see  that  only  two  states  are  possible  between  them, 
—  either  God  and  Matter  are  contemporaneous,  or  God 
existed  alone  before  Matter.     Were  Reason  —  the  light 


Seraphita.  123 

that  has  guided  the  human  race  from  the  dawn  of  its 
existence  —  accumulated  in  one  brain,  even  that  mighty 
brain  could  not  invent  a  thu-d  mode  of  being  without 
suppressing  both  Matter  and  God.  Let  human  phi- 
losophies pile  mountain  upon  mountain  of  words  and 
of  ideas,  let  religions  accumulate  images  and  beliefs, 
revelations  and  mysteries,  you  must  face  at  last  this 
terrible  dilemma  and  choose  between  the  two  proposi- 
tions which  compose  it ;  you  have  no  option,  and  one 
as  much  as  the  other  leads  human  reason  to  Doubt. 

"  The  problem  thus  estabUshed,  what  signifies  Spirit 
or  Matter?  Why  trouble  about  the  march  of  the  worlds 
in  one  direction  or  in  another,  since  the  Being  who 
guides  them  is  shown  to  be  an  absurdity  ?  Why  con- 
tinue to  ask  whether  man  is  approaching  heaven  or 
receding  from  it,  whether  creation  is  rising  towards 
Spirit  or  descending  towards  Matter,  if  the  questioned 
universe  gives  no  reply?  What  signifies  theogonies 
and  their  armies,  theologies  and  their  dogmas,  since 
whichever  side  of  the  problem  is  man's  choice,  his  God 
exists  not?  Let  us  for  a  moment  take  up  the  first 
proposition,  and  suppose  God  contemporaneous  with 
Matter.  Is  subjection  to  the  action  or  the  co-existence 
of  an  alien  substance  consistent  with  being  God  at  all? 
In  such  a  S3'stem,  would  not  God  become  a  secondary 
agent  compelled  to  organize  Matter?  If  so,  who  com- 
pelled Him  ?  Between  His  material  gross  companion  and 
Himself,  who  was  the  arbiter?  Who  paid  the  wages  of 
the  six  days'  labor  imputed  to  the  great  Designer?  Has 
any  determining  force  been  found  which  was  neither 


124  Seraphita. 

God  nor  Matter?  God  being  regarded  as  the  manu- 
facturer of  the  machiner}'  of  the  worlds,  is  it  not  as 
ridiculous  to  call  Him  God  as  to  call  the  slave  who 
turned  a  grindstone  a  Roman  citizen?  Besides,  an- 
other difficulty,  as  insoluble  to  this  supreme  human 
reason  as  it  is  to  God,  presents  itself. 

"  If  we  carry  the  problem  higher,  shall  we  not  be  like 
the  Hindus,  who  put  the  world  upon  a  tortoise,  the 
tortoise  on  an  elephant,  and  do  not  know  on  what  the 
feet  of  their  elephant  may  rest?  This  supreme  will, 
issuing  from  the  contest  between  God  and  Matter, 
this  God,  this  more  than  God,  can  He  have  existed 
throughout  eternity  without  willing  what  He  afterwards 
willed,  —  admitting  that  Elternity  can  be  divided  into 
two  eras.  No  matter  where  God  is,  what  becomes  of 
His  intuitive  intelligence  if  He  did  not  know  His  ulti- 
mate thought?  Which,  then,  is  the  true  Eternity, — 
the  created  Eternity  or  the  uncreated?  But  if  God 
throughout  all  time  did  will  the  world  such  as  it  is, 
this  new  necessity,  which  harmonizes  with  the  idea 
of  sovereign  intelligence,  imijlies  the  co-eternity  of 
Matter.  "Whether  Matter  be  co-eternal  by  a  divine 
will  necessarily  accordant  with  itself  from  the  begin- 
ning, or  whether  Matter  be  co-eternal  of  its  own  being, 
the  power  of  God,  which  must  be  absolute,  perishes  if 
His  will  is  circumscribed ;  for  in  that  case  God  would 
find  within  Him  a  determining  force  which  would  con- 
trol Him.  Can  He  be  God  if  He  can  no  more  separate 
Himself  from  His  creation  in  a  past  eternity  than  in  the 
coming  eternity  ? 


Seraphita.  125 

"  This  face  of  the  problem  is  insoluble  in  its  cause. 
Let  us  now  inquire  into  its  effects.  If  a  God  compelled 
to  have  created  the  world  from  all  eternity  seems  in- 
explicable, He  is  quite  as  unintelligible  in  perpetual 
cohesion  with  His  work.  God,  constrained  to  live 
eternal!}'  united  to  His  creation  is  held  down  to  His 
first  position  as  workman.  Can  3'ou  conceive  of  a 
God  who  shall  be  neither  independent  of  nor  depend- 
ent on  His  work  ?  Could  He  destro}'  that  work  with- 
out challenging  Himself  ?  Ask  j-ourself,  and  decide  1 
Whether  He  destroys  it  some  da^-,  or  whether  He  never 
destroys  it,  either  wa}^  is  fatal  to  the  attributes  without 
which  God  cannot  exist.  Is  the  world  an  experiment  ? 
is  it  a  perishable  form  to  which  destruction  must  come  f 
If  it  is,  is  not  God  inconsistent  and  impotent?  incon- 
sistent, because  He  ought  to  have  seen  the  result  before 
the  attempt,  —  moreover  wh}-  should  He  delay  to  destro}' 
that  which  He  is  to  destro}'  ?  —  impotent,  for  how  else 
could  He  have  created  an  imperfect  man? 

"K  an  imperfect  creation  contradicts  the  faculties 
which  man  attributes  to  God  we  are  forced  back  upoR 
the  question.  Is  creation  perfect?  The  idea  is  in  har* 
mony  with  that  of  a  God  supremely  intelligent  who 
could  make  no  mistakes ;  but  then,  what  means  the 
degradation  of  His  work,  and  its  regeneration  ?  More- 
over, a  perfect  world  is,  necessarily,  indestructible ;  its 
forms  would  not  perish,  it  could  neither  advance  nor 
recede,  it  would  revolve  in  the  everlasting  circumfer- 
ence from  which  it  would  never  issue.  In  that  case 
God  would  be  dependent  on  His  work  ;  it  would  be  co 


126  SerapUta. 

eternal  with  Him ;  and  so  we  fall  back  into  one  of  the 
propositions  most  antagonistic  to  God.  If  the  world 
is  imperfect,  it  can  progress  ;  if  perfect,  it  is  stationar}-. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  it  be  impossible  to  admit  of  a 
progressive  God  ignorant  through  a  past  eternity  of  the 
results  of  His  creative  work,  can  there  be  a  stationary 
God?  would  not  that  imply  the  triumph  of  Matter? 
would  it  not  be  the  greatest  of  all  negations  ?  Under 
the  first  hypothesis  God  perishes  through  weakness ; 
under  the  second  through  the  force  of  His  inertia- 

"  Therefore,  to  all  sincere  minds  the  supposition  that 
Matter,  in  the  conception  and  execution  of  the  worlds, 
is  contemporaneous  with  God,  is  to  deny  God.  Forced 
to  choose,  in  order  to  govern  the  nations,  between  the 
two  alternatives  of  the  problem,  whole  generations  have 
preferred  this  solution  of  it.  Hence  the  doctrine  of  the 
two  principles  of  Magianism,  brought  from  Asia  and 
adopted  in  Europe  under  the  form  of  Satan  warring 
with  the  Eternal  Father.  But  this  religious  formula 
and  the  innumerable  aspects  of  divinity  that  have 
sprung  from  it  are  surely  crimes  against  the  Majesty 
Divine.  What  other  term  can  we  apply  to  the  belief 
which  sets  up  as  a  rival  to  God  a  personification  of 
Evil,  striving  eternally  against  the  Omnipotent  Mind 
without  the  possibility  of  ultimate  triumph?  Your 
statics  declare  that  two  Forces  thus  pitted  against  each 
other  are  reciprocally  rendered  null. 

"  Do  3'ou  turn  back,  therefore,  to  the  other  side  of 
the  problem,  and  say  that  Go'J  ore-existed,  original, 
alone  ? 


Serajphita.  127 

•'  I  will  not  go  over  the  preceding  arguments  (which 
here  return  in  full  force)  as  to  the  severance  of  Eter- 
nit}'  into  two  parts ;  nor  the  questions  raised  by  the 
progression  or  the  immobility  of  the  worlds ;  let  us 
look  only  at  the  difficulties  inherent  to  this  second 
theory.  If  God  pre-existed  alone,  the  world  must  have 
emanated  from  Him ;  Matter  was  therefore  drawn  from 
His  essence ;  consequently  Matter  in  itself  is  non- 
existent ;  all  forms  are  veils  to  cover  the  Divine  Spirit 
If  this  be  so,  the  "World  is  Eternal,  and  also  it  must  be 
God.  Is  not  this  proposition  even  more  fatal  than  the 
former  to  the  attributes  conferred  on  God  by  human 
reason?  How  can  the  actual  condition  of  Matter  be 
explained  if  we  suppose  it  to  issue  from  the  bosom  of 
God  and  to  be  ever  united  with  Him?  Is  it  possible 
to  believe  that  the  All-Powerful,  supremelj-  good  in 
His  essence  and  in  His  faculties,  has  engendered  things 
dissimilar  to  Himself.  Must  He  not  in  all  things  and 
through  all  things  be  like  unto  Himself?  Can  there  be 
in  God  certain  evil  parts  of  which  at  some  future  day 
he  may  rid  Himself?  —  a  conjecture  less  offensive  and 
absurd  than  terrible,  for  the  reason  that  it  drags  back 
into  Him  the  two  principles  which  the  preceding  theory 
proved  to  be  inadmissible.  God  must  be  One  ;  He  can- 
not be  divided  without  renouncing  the  most  important 
condition  of  His  existence.  It  is  therefore  impossible 
to  admit  of  a  fraction  of  God  which  j'ct  is  not  God. 
This  hypothesis  seemed  so  criminal  to  the  Roman 
Church  that  she  has  made  the  omnipresence  of  God  in 
the  least  particles  of  the  Eucharist  an  article  of  faith. 


128  Seraphita. 

"But  how  then  can  we  imagine  an  omnipotent  mind 
which  does  not  triumph?  How  associate  it  unless  in 
triumph  with  Nature  ?  But  Nature  is  not  triumphant ; 
she  seeks,  combines,  remodels,  dies,  and  is  born  again  ; 
she  is  even  more  convulsed  when  creating  than  when 
all  was  fusion ;  Nature  suffers,  groans,  is  ignorant,  de- 
generates, does  evil ;  deceives  herself,  annihilates  her- 
self, disappears,  and  begins  again.  If  God  is  associated 
with  Nature,  how  can  we  explain  the  inoperative  in- 
difference of  the  divine  principle?  Wherefore  death? 
How  came  it  that  Evil,  king  of  the  earth,  was  born  of 
a  God  supremely  good  in  His  essence  and  in  His  facul- 
ties, who  can  produce  nothing  that  is  not  made  in  His 
own  image? 

"  But  if,  from  this  relentless  conclusion  which  leads 
at  once  to  absurdity,  we  pass  to  details,  what  end  are 
we  to  assign  to  the  world  ?  If  all  is  God,  all  is  recipro- 
cally cause  and  effect ;  all  is  One  as  God  is  One,  and 
we  can  perceive  neither  points  of  likeness  nor  points  of 
difference.  Can  the  real  end  be  a  rotation  of  Matter 
which  subtilizes  and  disappears?  In  whatever  sense  it 
were  done,  would  not  this  mechanical  trick  of  Matter 
issuing  from  God  and  returning  to  God  seem  a  sort  of 
child's  play?  Why  should  God  make  himself  gross 
with  Matter?  Under  which  form  is  he  most  God? 
Which  has  the  ascendant,  Matter  or  Spirit,  when 
neither  can  in  any  way  do  wrong?  Who  can  compre- 
hend the  Deity  engaged  in  this  perpetual  business,  by 
which  he  divides  Himself  into  two  Natures,  one  of  which 
knows  nothing,  while  the  other  knows  all?    Can  you 


Seraphita.  129 

conceive  of  God  amusing  Himself  in  the  form  of  man, 
laughing  at  His  own  efforts,  dying  Friday,  to  be  born 
again  Sunda}',  and  continuing  this  pla}'  from  age  to 
age,  knowing  the  end  from  all  eternity,  and  telling 
nothing  to  Himself,  the  Creature,  of  what  He  the 
Creator,  does  ?  The  God  of  the  preceding  hypothesis, 
a  God  so  nugatorj'  by  the  very  power  of  His  inertia, 
seems  the  more  possible  of  the  two  if  we  are  compelled 
to  choose  between  the  impossibilities  with  which  this 
God,  so  dull  a  jester,  fusillades  Himself  when  two  sec- 
tions of  humanit}'  argue  face  to  face,  weapons  in  hand. 
"However  absurd  this  outcome  of  the  second  problem 
may  seem,  it  was  adopted  by  half  the  human  race  in 
the  sunny  lands  where  smiling  mythologies  were  cre- 
ated. Those  amorous  nations  were  consistent ;  with 
them  all  was  God,  even  Fear  and  its  dastard}',  even 
crime  and  its  bacchanals.  If  we  accept  pantheism,  — 
the  religion  of  man}'  a  great  human  genius,  —  who  shall 
say  where  the  greater  reason  lies  ?  Is  it  with  the  savage, 
free  in  the  desert,  clothed  in  his  nudit}',  listening  to  the 
sun,  talking  to  the  sea,  sublime  and  alwa3's  true  in  his 
deeds  whatever  the}'  may  be ;  or  shall  we  find  it  in  civi- 
lized man,  who  derives  his  chief  enjoyments  through 
lies  ;  who  wrings  Nature  and  all  her  resources  to  put  a 
musket  on  his  shoulder ;  who  employs  his  intellect  to 
hasten  the  hour  of  his  death  and  to  create  diseases  out 
of  pleasures?  When  the  rake  of  pestilence  and  the 
ploughshare  of  war  and  the  demon  of  desolation  have 
passed  over  a  corner  of  the  globe  and  obliterated  all 
things,  who  will  be  found  to  have  the  greater  reason,  — 

9 


130  Seraphita. 

the  Nubian  savage  or  the  patrician  of  Thebes  ?  Youi 
doubts  descend  the  scale,  they  go  from  heights  to 
depths,  they  embrace  all,  the  end  as  well  as  the 
means. 

"  But  if  the  physical  world  seems  inexplicable,  the 
moral  world  presents  still  stronger  arguments  against 
God.  Where,  then,  is  progress?  If  all  things  are  in- 
deed moving  toward  perfection  wh}"  do  we  die  3-oung? 
why  do  not  nations  perpetuate  themselves?  The  world 
having  issued  from  God  and  being  contained  in  God 
can  it  be  stationary?  Do  we  live  once,  or  do  we 
live  always?  If  we  live  once,  hurried  onward  by  the 
march  of  the  Great- Whole,  a  knowledge  of  which  has 
not  been  given  to  us,  let  us  act  as  we  please.  If  we 
are  eternal,  let  things  take  their  course.  Is  the  created 
being  guilty  if  he  exists  at  the  instant  of  the  transi- 
tions? If  he  sins  at  the  moment  of  a  great  transfor- 
mation will  he  be  punished  for  it  after  being  its  victim  ? 
What  becomes  of  the  Divine  goodness  if  we  are  not 
transferred  to  the  regions  of  the  blest  —  should  any 
such  exist?  What  becomes  of  God's  prescience  if  He 
is  ignorant  of  the  results  of  the  trials  to  which  He  sub- 
jects us?  What  is  this  alternative  offered  to  man  by  all 
religions,  —  either  to  boil  in  some  eternal  cauldron  or  to 
walk  in  white  robes,  a  palm  in  his  hand  and  a  halo 
round  his  head?  Can  it  be  that  this  pagan  invention 
is  the  final  word  of  God  ?  Where  is  the  generous  soul 
who  does  not  feel  that  the  calculating  virtue  which 
seeks  the  eternity  of  pleasure  offered  b}'  all  religions 
to  whoever  fulfils  at  stray  moments   certain   fancifu] 


Seraphita.  \2)\. 

and  often  unnatural  conditions,  is  unworthy  of  man 
and  of  God  ?  Is  it  not  a  mockery  to  give  to  man  im- 
petuous senses  and  forbid  him  to  satisfy  them?  Be- 
sides, what  mean  these  ascetic  objections  if  Good  and 
Evil  are  equally  abolished?  Does  Evil  exist?  If  sub- 
stance in  all  its  forms  is  God,  then  Evil  is  God.  The 
faculty  of  reasoning  as  well  as  the  faculty  of  feeling 
having  been  given  to  man  to  use,  nothing  can  be  more 
excusable  in  him  than  to  seek  to  know  the  meanino-  of 
human  suffering  and  the  prospects  of  the  future. 

"  If  these  rigid  and  rigorous  arguments  lead  to  such 
conclusions  confusion  must  reign.  The  world  would 
have  no  fixedness;  nothing  would  advance,  nothino- 
would  pause,  all  would  change,  nothing  would  be  de- 
stroyed, all  would  reappear  after  self-renovation;  for 
if  your  mind  does  not  clearly  demonstrate  to  you  an 
end,  it  is  equally  impossible  to  demonstrate  the  de- 
struction of  the  smallest  particle  of  Matter ;  Matter  can 
transform  but  not  annihilate  itself. 

"  Though  blind  force  may  provide  arguments  for  the 
atheist,  intelligent  force  is  inexplicable ;  for  if  it  ema- 
nates from  God,  why  should  it  meet  with  obstacles? 
ought  not  its  triumph  to  be  immediate  ?  "Where  is  God  ? 
If  the  living  cannot  perceive  Him,  can  the  dead  find 
Him  ?  Crumble,  ye  idolatries  and  ye  religions  !  Fall, 
feeble  keystones  of  all  social  arches,  powerless  to 
retard  the  decay,  the  death,  the  obhvion  that  have 
overtaken  all  nations  however  firmly  founded!  Fall, 
morality  and  justice !  our  crimes  are  purely  relative ; 
they  are  divine  efiects  whose  causes  we  are  not  allowed 


132  Seraphita. 

to  know.  All  is  God.  Either  we  are  God  or  God  ia 
not !  —  Child  of  a  century  whose  every  year  has  laid 
upon  3'our  brow,  old  man,  the  ice  of  its  unbelief,  here, 
here  is  the  summing  up  of  your  lifetime  of  thought, 
of  your  science  and  your  reflections  !  Dear  Monsieur 
Becker,  3'ou  have  laid  your  head  on  the  pillow  of 
Doubt,  because  it  is  the  easiest  of  solutions ;  acting 
in  this  respect  with  the  majority  of  mankind,  who 
say  in  their  hearts :  '  Let  us  think  no  more  of  these 
problems,  since  God  has  not  vouchsafed  to  grant  us 
the  algebraic  demonstrations  that  could  solve  them, 
while  He  has  given  us  so  many  other  ways  to  get  from 
earth  to  heaven.' 

"  Tell  me,  dear  pastor,  are  not  these  your  secret 
thoughts?  Have  I  evaded  the  point  of  any?  nay, 
rather,  have  I  not  clearlj'  stated  all?  First,  in  the 
dogma  of  two  principles,  —  an  antagonism  in  which 
God  pei'ishes  for  the  reason  that  being  All-Powerful 
He  chose  to  combat.  Secondl}',  in  the  absurd  panthe- 
ism where,  all  being  God,  God  exists  no  longer.  These 
two  sources,  from  which  have  flowed  all  the  religions 
for  whose  triumph  Earth  has  toiled  and  prayed,  are 
equally  pernicious.  Behold  in  them  the  double-bladed 
axe  with  which  you  decapitate  the  white  old  man  whom 
you  enthrone  among  your  painted  clouds !  And  now, 
to  me  the  axe   I  wield  it !  " 

Monsieur  Becker  and  Wilfrid  gazed  at  the  young  girl 
with  something  like  terror. 

"  To  believe,"  continued  Seraphita,  in  her  Woman's 
voice,  for  the  Man  had  finished  speaking,  "  to  believe 


Seraphita.  I33 

is  a  gift.     To  believe  is  to  feel.     To  believe  in  God  we 
must   feel  God.      This   feeling  is  a  possession   slowly 
acquired  by  the  human  being,  just  as  other  astonishin^r 
powers  which  you  admire  in  great  men,  warriors,  artists, 
scholars,  those  who  know  and  those  who  act,  are  ac- 
quired.    Thought,  that  budget  of  the  relations  which 
you  perceive  among  created  things,  is  an  intellectual 
language  which  can  be  learned,  is  it  not?     Belief,  the 
budget  of  celestial  truths,  is  also  a  language  as  superior 
to  thought  as  thought  is  to  instinct.      This  lanjruao-e 
also  can  be   learned.      The   Believer   answers    with  a 
single  cry,  a  single  gesture  ;  Faith  puts  within  his  hand 
a  flaming  sword  with  which  he  pierces   and  illumines 
all.      The  Seer   attains  to  heaven  and   descends   not. 
But  there  are  beings  who  believe  and  see,  who  know 
and  will,  who  love   and   pray  and  wait.     Submissive, 
yet  aspiring  to  the  kingdom  of  light,  they  have  neither 
the  aloofness  of  the  Believer  nor  the  silence  of  the  Seer ; 
they  listen  and  reply.     To  them  the  doubt  of  the  twi- 
light ages  is  not  a  murderous  weapon,  but  a  divining 
rod ;  they  accept  the  contest  under  every  form  ;  they 
train  their  tongues  to  every  language ;  they  are  never 
angered,  though  they  groan ;  the  acrimony  of  the  ag- 
gressor is  not  in   them,  but  rather   the   softness   and 
tenuity   of   light,    which    penetrates    and   warms    and 
illumines.     To  their  eyes  Doubt  is  neither  an  impiety, 
nor  a  blasphemy,  nor  a  crime,  but  a  transition  through 
which  men  return  upon  their  steps  in  the  Darkness,  or 
advance  into  the  Light.     This  being  so,  dear  pastor, 
let  us  reason  together. 


134  Seraphita. 

"  You  do  not  believe  in  God ?  Why?  God,  to  your 
thinking,  is  incomprehensible,  inexplicable.  Agreed. 
I  will  not  reply  that  to  comprehend  God  in  His  entirety 
would  be  to  be  God  ;  nor  will  I  tell  you  that  you  deny 
what  seems  to  j'ou  inexplicable  so  as  to  give  me  the 
risrht  to  affirm  that  which  to  me  is  believable.  There 
is,  for  you,  one  evident  fact,  which  lies  within  j'our- 
self.  In  you,  Matter  has  ended  in  intelligence  ;  can  3'ou 
,  therefore  think  that  human  intelligence  will  end  in  dark- 
ness, doubt,  and  nothingness?  God  may  seem  to  you 
incomprehensible  and  inexplicable,  but  3'ou  must  admit 
Him  to  be,  in  all  things  purelj'  phj'sical,  a  splendid  and 
consistent  workman.  Why  should  His  craft  stop  short 
at  man.  His  most  finished  creation? 

"  If  that  question  is  not  convincing,  at  least  it  com- 
pels meditation.  Happil}',  although  you  deny  God,  you 
are  obliged,  in  order  to  establish  your  doubts,  to  admit 
those  double-bladed  facts,  which  kill  j-our  arguments 
as  much  as  j'our  arguments  kill  God.  We  have  also 
admitted  that  Matter  and  Spirit  are  two  creations 
which  do  not  comprehend  each  other ;  that  the  spirit- 
ual world  is  formed  of  infinite  relations  to  which  the 
finite  material  world  has  given  rise ;  that  if  no  one  on 
earth  is  able  to  identify  himself  by  the  power  of  his 
spirit  with  the  great-whole  of  terrestrial  creations,  still 
less  is  he  able  to  rise  to  the  knowledge  of  the  relations 
which  the  spirit  perceives  between  these  creations. 

"  We  might  end  the  argument  here  in  one  word, 
by  denying  you  the  faculty  of  comprehending  God, 
just  as  you  deny  to  the  pebbles  of  the  fiord  the  faculties 


SerapMta.  135 

of  counting  and  of  seeing  each  other.  How  do  you 
know  that  the  stones  themselves  do  not  deny  the  ex- 
istence of  man,  though  man  makes  use  of  them  to  build 
his  houses?  There  is  one  fact  that  appals  you, — the 
Infinite ;  if  you  feel  it  within  you,  why  will  you  not 
admit  its  consequences  ?  Can  the  finite  have  a  perfect 
knowledge  of  the  infinite?  If  you  cannot  perceive 
those  relations  which,  according  to  your  own  admis- 
sion, are  infinite,  how  can  you  grasp  a  sense  of  the  far- 
off  end  to  which  they  are  converging?  Order,  the 
revelation  of  which  is  one  of  your  needs,  being  infinite, 
can  your  limited  reason  apprehend  it?  Do  not  ask 
why  man  does  not  comprehend  that  which  he  is  able 
to  perceive,  for  he  is  equally  able  to  perceive  that  which 
he  does  not  comprehend.  If  I  prove  to  you  that  your 
mind  ignores  that  which  lies  within  its  compass,  will 
you  grant  that  it  is  impossible  for  it  to  conceive  what- 
ever is  beyond  it?  This  being  so,  am  I  not  justified  in 
saying  to  you :  '  One  of  the  two  propositions  under 
which  God  is  annihilated  before  the  tribunal  of  our 
reason  must  be  true,  the  other  is  false.  Inasmuch  as 
creation  exists,  you  feel  the  necessity  of  an  end,  and 
that  end  should  be  good,  should  it  not?  Now,  if  Mat- 
ter terminates  in  man  by  intelligence,  why  are  you  not 
satisfied  to  believe  that  the  end  of  human  intelligence 
is  the  Light  of  the  higher  spheres,  where  alone  an  in- 
tuition of  that  God  who  seems  to  you  so  insoluble  a 
problem  is  obtained?  The  species  which  are  beneath 
you  have  no  conception  of  the  universe,  and  you  have ; 
why  should  there  not  be  other  species  above  you  more 


136  Seraphita. 

intelligent  than  your  own?  Man  ought  to  be  better 
informed  than  he  is  about  himself  before  he  spends  his 
strength  in  measuring  God.  Before  attacking  the  stars 
that  light  us,  and  the  higher  certainties,  ought  he  not  to 
understand  the  certainties  which  are  actually  about 
him?' 

"  But  no!  to  the  negations  of  doubt  I  ought  rather 
to  reply  by  negations.  Therefore  I  ask  you  whether 
there  is  anything  here  below  so  evident  that  I  can  put 
faith  in  it?  I  will  show  you  in  a  moment  that  you  be- 
lieve firmly  in  things  which  act,  and  yet  are  not  beings  ; 
in  things  which  engender  thought,  and  3'et  are  not 
spirits ;  in  living  abstractions  which  the  understanding 
cannot  grasp  in  any  shape,  which  are  in  fact  nowhere, 
but  which  you  perceive  everywhere ;  which  have,  and 
can  have,  no  name,  but  which,  nevertheless,  you  have 
named ;  and  which,  like  the  God  of  flesh  whom  you 
figure  to  yourself,  remain  inexplicable,  incomprehen- 
sible, and  absurd.  I  shall  also  ask  you  wh}-,  after 
admitting  the  existence  of  these  incomprehensible 
things,  3'ou  reserve  ^-our  doubts  for  God? 

"  You  believe,  for  instance,  in  Number,  — a  base  on 
which  you  have  built  the  edifice  of  sciences  which  you 
call  '  exact.'  Without  Number,  what  would  become 
of  mathematics  ?  Well,  what  mysterious  being  endowed 
with  the  faculty  of  living  forever  could  utter,  and  what 
language  would  he  compact  to  word  the  Number  which 
contains  the  infinite  numbers  whose  existence  is  re- 
vealed to  you  by  thought?  Ask  it  of  the  loftiest 
human  genius ;    he   might   ponder   it   for   a   thousand 


Seraphita.  137 

years  and  what  would  be  his  answer?  You  know 
neither  where  Number  begins,  nor  where  it  pauses, 
nor  where  it  ends.  Here  30U  call  it  Time,  there  3-ou 
call  it  Space.  Nothing  exists  except  by  Number. 
Without  it,  all  would  be  one  and  the  same  substance ; 
for  Number  alone  differentiates  and  qualities  substance. 
Number  is  to  your  Spirit  what  it  is  to  Matter,  an  in- 
comprehensible agent.  Will  you  make  a  Deity  of  it? 
Is  it  a  being?  Is  it  a  breath  emanating  from  God  to 
organize  the  material  universe  where  nothing  obtains 
form  except  by  the  Divinity  which  is  an  effect  of  Num- 
ber ?  The  least  as  well  as  the  greatest  of  creations  are 
distinguishable  from  each  other  by  quantities,  qualities, 
dimensions,  forces,  —  all  attributes  created  b}'  Number. 
The  infinitude  of  Numbers  is  a  fact  proved  to  your  soul, 
but  of  which  no  material  proof  can  be  given.  The 
mathematician  himself  tells  j'ou  that  the  infinite  of 
numbers  exists,  but  cannot  be  proved. 

' '  God,  dear  pastor,  is  a  Number  endowed  with  mo- 
tion,—  felt,  but  not  seen,  the  Believer  will  tell  you. 
Like  the  Unit,  He  begins  Numbers,  with  which  He  has 
nothing  in  common.  The  existence  of  Number  de- 
pends on  the  Unit,  which  without  being  a  number  en- 
genders Number.  God,  dear  pastor,  is  a  glorious 
Unit  who  has  nothing  in  common  with  His  creations 
but  who,  nevertheless,  engenders  them.  Will  you  not 
therefore  agree  with  me  that  you  are  just  as  ignorant 
of  where  Number  begins  and  ends  as  you  are  of  where 
created  Eternity  begins  and  ends? 

"  Why,  then,  if  you  believe  in  Number,  do  you  deny 


188  Seraphita. 

God?  Is  not  Creation  interposed  between  the  Infinite 
of  unorganized  substances  and  the  Infinite  of  the  divine 
spheres,  just  as  the  Unit  stands  between  the  Cipher  of 
the  fractions  3-ou  have  lately  named  Decimals,  and  the 
Infinite  of  Numbers  which  you  call  Wholes?  Man 
alone  on  earth  comprehends  Number,  that  first  step  of 
the  peristyle  which  leads  to  God,  and  3'et  his  reason 
stumbles  on  it !  What !  3-ou  can  neither  measure  nor 
grasp  the  first  abstraction  which  God  delivers  to  you, 
and  yet  3-ou  tr3^  to  subject  His  ends  to  3'our  own  tape- 
line  !  Suppose  that  I  plunge  you  into  the  abyss  of 
Motion,  the  force  that  organizes  Number.  If  I  tell 
3-0U  that  the  Universe  is  naught  else  than  Number 
and  Motion,  you  would  see  at  once  that  we  speak  two 
different  languages.  I  understand  them  both ;  you 
understand  neither. 

"  Suppose  I  add  that  Motion  and  Number  are  en- 
gendered b3^  the  Word,  nameU'  the  supreme  Reason  of 
Seers  and  Prophets  who  in  the  olden  time  heard  the 
Breath  of  God  beneath  which  Saul  fell  to  the  earth. 
That  Word,  3'ou  scoff  at  it,  3-ou  men,  although  3'ou 
weD  know  that  all  visible  works,  societies,  monuments, 
deeds,  passions,  proceed  from  the  breath  of  3'our  own 
feeble  word,  and  that  without  that  word  3-ou  would 
resemble  the  African  gorilla,  the  nearest  approach  to 
man,  the  negro.  You  believe  firmly  in  Number  and  in 
Motion,  a  force  and  a  result  both  inexplicable,  incom- 
prehensible, to  the  existence  of  which  I  ma3^  appb'  the 
logical  dilemma  which,  as  we  have  seen,  prevents  vou 
from  believing  in   God.     Powerful  reasoner  that  you 


Seraphita.  139 

are,  you  do  not  need  that  I  should  prove  to  you  that 
the  Infinite  must  everywhere  be  like  unto  Itself,  and 
that,  necessarily,  it  is  One.  God  alone  is  Infinite,  lor 
surely  there  cannot  be  two  Infinites,  two  Ones.  If, 
to  make  use  of  human  terms,  anything  demonstrated 
to  you  here  below  seems  to  you  infinite,  be  sure  that 
within  it  you  will  find  some  one  aspect  of  God.  But  to 
continue. 

"  You  have  appropriated  to  j'ourself  a  place  in  the 
Infinite  of  Number ;  you  have  fitted  it  to  your  own 
proportions  by  creating  (if  indeed  you  did  create) 
arithmetic,  the  basis  on  which  all  things  rest,  even 
youT  societies.  Just  as  Number  —  the  only  thing  in 
which  your  self-styled  atheists  believe  —  organized 
physical  creations,  so  arithmetic,  in  the  employ  of 
Number,  organized  the  moral  world.  This  numeration 
must  be  absolute,  like  all  else  that  is  true  in  itself;  but 
it  is  purely  relative,  it  does  not  exist  absolutel}',  and  no 
proof  can  be  given  of  its  realit}'.  In  the  first  place, 
though  Numeration  is  able  to  take  account  of  organized 
substances,  it  is  powerless  in  relation  to  unorganized 
forces,  the  ones  being  finite  and  the  others  infinite.  The 
man  who  can  conceive  the  Infinite  by  his  intelligence 
cannot  deal  with  it  in  its  entirety  ;  if  he  could,  he  would 
be  God.  Your  Numeration,  applying  to  things  finite 
and  not  to  the  Infinite,  is  therefore  true  in  relation  to 
the  details  which  3'ou  are  able  to  perceive,  and  false  in 
relation  to  the  Whole,  which  you  are  unable  to  perceive. 
Though  Nature  is  like  unto  herself  in  the  organizing 
forces  or  in  her  principles  which  are  infinite,  she  is  not 


140  Seraphita. 

so  in  her  finite  effects.  Thus  3^011  will  never  find  in 
Nature  two  objects  identically  alike.  In  the  Natural 
Order  two  and  two  never  make  four ;  to  do  so,  four 
exactly  similar  units  must  be  had,  and  j^ou  know  how 
impossible  it  is  to  find  two  leaves  alike  on  the  same  tree, 
or  two  trees  alike  of  the  same  species.  This  axiom  of 
3'our  numeration,  false  in  visible  nature,  is  equally  false 
in  the  invisible  universe  of  your  abstractions,  where  the 
same  variance  takes  place  in  your  ideas,  which  are  the 
things  of  the  visible  world  extended  bj-  means  of  their 
relations  ;  so  that  the  variations  here  are  even  more 
marked  than  elsewhere.  In  fact,  all  being  relative  to 
the  temperament,  strength,  habits,  and  customs  of  in- 
dividuals, who  never  resemble  each  other,  the  smallest 
objects  take  the  color  of  personal  feelings.  For  in- 
stance, man  has  been  able  to  create  units  and  to  give 
an  equal  weight  and  value  to  bits  of  gold.  Well,  take 
the  ducat  of  the  rich  man  and  the  ducat  of  the  poor  man 
to  a  money-changer  and  they  are  rated  exactly  equal, 
but  to  the  mind  of  the  thinker  one  is  of  greater  impor- 
tance than  the  other ;  one  represents  a  month  of  com- 
fort, the  other  an  ephemeral  caprice.  Two  and  two, 
therefore,  only  make  four  through  a  false  conception. 

"Again:  fraction  does  not  exist  in  Nature,  where 
what  you  call  a  fragment  is  a  finished  whole.  Does  it 
not  often  happen  (have  yon  not  many  proofs  of  it?) 
that  the  hundredth  part  of  a  substance  is  stronger  than 
what  you  term  the  whole  of  it?  If  fraction  does  not 
exist  in  the  Natural  Order,  still  less  shall  we  find  it  in 
the  Moral  Order,  where  ideas  and  sentiments  may  be 


Seraphita.  141 

as  varied  as  the  species  of  the  Vegetable  kingdom  and 
yet  be  alwa3's  whole.  The  theorj'  of  fractions  is  there- 
fore another  signal  instance  of  the  se^^^lity  of  your 
mind. 

"Thus  Number,  with  its  infinite  minuteness  and  its 
infinite  expansion,  is  a  power  whose  weakest  side  is 
known  to  you,  but  whose  real  import  escapes  your  per- 
ception. You  have  built  yourself  a  hut  in  the  Infinite  of 
numbers,  you  have  adorned  it  with  hieroghphics  sci- 
entifically arranged  and  painted,  and  you  cxy  out,  '  All 
is  here ! ' 

"  Let  us  pass  from  pure,  unmingled  Number  to  cor- 
porate Number.  Your  geometry'  establishes  that  a 
straight  line  is  the  shortest  way  from  one  point  to  an- 
other, but  your  astronomy  proves  that  God  has  pro- 
ceeded by  curves.  Here,  then,  we  find  two  truths 
equall}'  proved  b}-  the  same  science,  —  one  by  the  testi- 
mony- of  3'our  senses  reinforced  by  the  telescope,  the 
other  by  the  testimony  of  your  mind  ;  and  yet  the  one 
contradicts  the  other.  Man,  liable  to  err,  aflSrms  one, 
and  the  Maker  of  the  worlds,  whom,  so  far,  you  have 
not  detected  in  eiTor,  contradicts  it.  Who  shall  decide 
between  rectilinear  and  curvihnear  geometry  ?  between 
the  theory  of  the  straight  line  and  that  of  the  curve  ? 
If,  in  His  vast  work,  the  mysterious  Artificer,  who  knows 
how  to  reach  His  ends  miraculously  fast,  never  employs 
a  straight  line  except  to  cut  off  an  angle  and  so  obtain 
a  curve,  neither  does  man  himself  always  rely  upon  it 
The  bullet  which  he  aims  direct  proceeds  by  a  curve, 
and  when  you  wish  to  strike  a  certain  point  in  space, 


142  SerapMta. 

3'ou  impel  your  bombshell  along  its  cruel  parabola. 
None  of  30ur  men  of  science  have  drawn  from  this  fact 
the  simple  deduction  that  the  Curve  is  the  law  of  the 
material  worlds  and  the  Straight  line  that  of  the  Spiritual 
worlds  ;  one  is  the  theory  of  finite  creations,  the  other 
the  theory  of  the  infinite.  Man,  who  alone  in  this 
world  has  a  knowledge  of  the  Infinite,  can  alone  know 
the  straight  line ;  he  alone  has  the  sense  of  verticalit}' 
placed  in  a  special  organ.  A  fondness  for  the  creations 
of  the  curve  would  seem  to  be  in  certain  men  an  indica- 
tion of  the  impurity  of  their  nature  still  conjoined  to 
tlie  material  substances  which  engender  us  ;  and  the 
love  of  great  souls  for  the  straight  line  seems  to  show 
in  them  an  intuition  of  heaven.  Between  these  two 
lines  there  is  a  gulf  fixed  like  that  between  the  finite 
and  the  infinite,  between  matter  and  spirit,  between 
man  and  the  idea,  between  motion  and  the  object 
moved,  between  the  creature  and  God.  Ask  Love  the 
Divine  to  grant  you  his  wings  and  yoxx  can  cross  that 
gulf.     Beyond  it  begins  the  revelation  of  the  Word. 

"  No  part  of  those  things  which  you  call  material  is 
without  its  own  meaning ;  lines  are  the  boundaries  of 
solid  parts  and  imply  a  force  of  action  which  you  sup- 
press in  3^our  formulas,  —  thus  rendering  those  formulas 
false  in  relation  to  substances  taken  as  a  whole.  Hence 
the  constant  destruction  of  the  monuments  of  human 
labor,  which  j'ou  supply,  unknown  to  3'^ourselves,  with 
acting  properties.  Nature  has  substances  ;  your  sci- 
ence combines  only  their  appearances.  At  every  step 
Nature  gives  the  lie  to  all  your  laws.     Can  you  find 


SerapTiita.  143 

a  single  one  that  is  not  disproved  by  a  fact?  Your 
Static  laws  are  at  the  mere}'  of  a  thousand  accidents  • 
a  fluid  can  overthrow  a  solid  mountain  and  prove  that 
the  heaviest  substances  may  be  lifted  hy  one  that  is 
imponderable. 

"  Your  laws  on  Acoustics  and  Optics  are  defied  b}- 
the  sounds  which  yoxx  hear  within  yourselves  in  sleep, 
and  by  the  light  of  an  electric  sun  whose  ra3's  often 
overcome  you.  You  know  no  more  how  light  makes 
itself  seen  within  you,  than  you  know  the  simple  and 
natural  process  which  changes  it  on  the  throats  of 
tropic  birds  to  rubies,  sapphires,  emeralds,  and  opals, 
or  keeps  it  gra}*  and  brown  on  the  breasts  of  the  same 
birds  under  the  cloudj-  skies  of  Europe,  or  whitens  it 
here  in  the  bosom  of  our  polar  Nature.  You  know 
not  how  to  decide  whether  color  is  a  facult}'  with  which 
all  substances  are  endowed,  or  an  efl^ect  produced  by  an 
effluence  of  light.  You  admit  the  saltness  of  the  sea 
without  being  able  to  prove  that  the  water  is  salt  at 
its  greatest  depth.  You  recognize  the  existence  of 
various  substances  which  span  what  you  think  to  be 
the  void,  —  substances  which  are  not  tangible  under  any 
of  the  forms  assumed  by  Matter,  although  the}-  put 
themselves  in  harmonj-  with  Matter  in  spite  of  every 
obstacle. 

"  All  this  being  so,  j'ou  believe  in  the  results  of 
Chemistry,  although  that  science  still  knows  no  wa}' 
of  gauging  the  changes  produced  by  the  flux  and  reflux 
of  substances  which  come  and  go  across  your  crystals 
and  your  instruments  on  the  impalpable  filaments  of 


144  iSeraphita. 

heat  or  light  conducted  and  projected  by  the  affinities 
of  metal  or  vitrified  flint.  You  obtain  none  but  dead 
substances,  from  which  you  have  driven  the  unknown 
force  that  holds  in  check  the  decomposition  of  all 
things  here  below,  and  of  which  cohesion,  attraction, 
vibration,  and  polarity  are  but  phenomena.  Life  is 
the  thought  of  substances  ;  bodies  are  only  the  means 
of  fixing  life  and  holding  it  to  its  way.  If  bodies  were 
beings  living  of  themselves  they  would  be  Cause  itself, 
and  could  not  die. 

"  When  a  man  discovers  the  results  of  the  general 
movement,  which  is  shared  by  all  creations  according  to 
their  faculty  of  absorption,  you  proclaim  him  might}'  in 
science,  as  though  genius  consisted  in  explaining  a  thing 
that  is !  Genius  ought  to  cast  its  eyes  beyond  eflects. 
Your  men  of  science  would  laugh  if  j'ou  said  to  them  : 
'There  exist  such  positive  relations  between  two  hu- 
man beings,  one  of  whom  may  be  here,  and  the  other 
in  Java,  that  they  can  at  the  same  instant  feel  the  same 
sensation,  and  be  conscious  of  so  doing ;  they  can  ques- 
tion each  other  and  reply  without  mistake ; '  and  j'et 
there  are  mineral  substances  which  exhibit  sympathies 
as  far  off  from  each  other  as  those  of  which  I  speak. 
You  believe  in  the  power  of  the  electricity  which  j'ou 
find  in  the  magnet  and  you  deny  that  which  emanates 
from  the  soul!  According  to  you,  the  moon,  whose 
influence  upon  the  tides  you  think  fixed,  has  none 
whatever  upon  the  winds,  nor  upon  navigation,  nor 
upon  men ;  she  moves  the  sea,  but  she  must  not  aflfect 
the  sick  folk ;  she  has  undeniable   relations  with    one 


Seraphita.  145 

half  of  humanit}-,  and  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  the  other 
half.     These  are  your  vaunted  certainties  ! 

"  Let  us  go  a  step  further.  You  believe  in  phj-sics. 
But  your  physics  begin,  like  the  Catholic  religion,  with 
an  act  of  faith.  Do  the}-  not  pre-suppose  some  exter- 
nal force  distinct  from  substance  to  which  it  communi- 
cates motion?  You  see  its  effects,  but  what  is  it? 
where  is  it?  what  is  the  essence  of  its  nature,  its  life? 
has  it  any  limits  ?  —  and  j-et,  yon  denj'  God  ! 

"  Thus,  the  majority  of  your  scientific  axioms,  true 
in  their  relation  to  man,  are  false  in  relation  to  the 
Great  Whole.  Science  is  One,  but  j'ou  have  divided 
it.  To  know  the  real  meaning  of  the  laws  of  phe- 
nomena must  we  not  know  the  correlations  which  exist 
between  phenomena  and  the  law  of  the  Whole  ?  There 
is,  in  all  things,  an  appearance  which  strikes  your 
senses ;  under  that  appearance  stirs  a  soul ;  a  bod}'  is 
there  and  a  faculty  is  there.  Where  do  you  teach  the 
study  of  the  relations  which  bind  things  to  each 
other?  Nowhere.  Consequently  3'ou  have  nothing 
positive.  Your  strongest  certainties  rest  upon  the 
analj'sis  of  material  forms  whose  essence  you  persist- 
entl}'  ignore. 

"  There  is  a  Higher  Knowledge  of  which,  too  late, 
some  men  obtain  a  glimpse,  though  they  dare  not  avow 
it.  Such  men  comprehend  the  necessity  of  considering 
substances  not  merely  in  their  mathematical  properties 
but  also  in  their  entiret}^,  in  their  occult  relations  and 
affinities.  The  greatest  man  among  you  divined,  in  his 
latter  days,  that  all  was  reciprocally  cause  and  effect ; 

10 


146  SerapTiita. 

that  the  visible  worlds  were  co-ordinated  among  them- 
selves and  subject  to  worlds  invisible.  He  groaned  at 
the  recollection  of  having  tried  to  establish  fixed  pre- 
cepts. Counting  up  his  worlds,  like  grape-seeds  scat- 
tered through  ether,  he  had  explained  their  coherence  b}' 
the  laws  of  planetar}-  and  molecular  attraction.  You 
bowed  before  that  man  of  science  —  well !  I  tell  you  that 
he  died  in  despair.  By  supposing  that  the  centrifugal 
and  centripetal  forces,  which  he  had  invented  to  explain 
to  himself  the  universe,  were  equal,  he  stopped  the 
universe ;  3'et  he  admitted  motion  in  an  indeterminate 
sense  ;  but  supposing  those  forces  unequal,  then  utter 
confusion  of  the  planetary  system  ensued.  His  laws 
therefore  were  not  absolute ;  some  higher  problem  ex- 
isted than  the  principle  on  which  his  false  glory  rested. 
The  connection  of  the  stars  with  one  another  and  the 
centripetal  action  of  their  internal  motion  did  not  deter 
him  from  seeking  the  parent  stalk  on  which  his  clusters 
hung.  Alas,  poor  man !  the  more  he  widened  space  the 
heavier  his  burden  grew.  He  told  you  how  there  came 
to  be  equilibrium  among  the  parts,  but  whither  went  the 
whole?  His  mind  contemplated  the  vast  extent,  illimi- 
table to  human  eyes,  filled  with  those  groups  of  worlds 
a  mere  fraction  of  which  is  all  our  telescopes  can  reach, 
but  whose  immensity  is  revealed  by  the  rapidit}'  of 
light.  This  sublime  contemplation  enabled  him  to  per- 
ceive myriads  of  worlds,  planted  in  space  like  flowers 
in  a  field,  which  are  born  like  infants,  grow  like  men, 
die  as  the  aged  die,  and  live  by  assimilating  from  their 
atmosphere  the  substances  suitable   for  their  nourish- 


Serapliita.  147 

inent,  —  having  a  centre  and  a  principal  of  life,  guar- 
anteeing to  each  other  their  circuits,  absorbed  and 
absorbing  like  plants,  and  forming  a  vast  Whole  en- 
dowed with  life  and  possessing  a  destiny. 

"  At  that  sight  jonv  man  of  science  trembled!  He 
knew  that  life  is  produced  by  the  union  of  the  thing 
and  its  principle,  that  death  or  inertia  or  gravity  is 
produced  by  a  rupture  between  a  thing  and  the  move- 
ment which  appertains  to  it.  Then  it  was  that  he 
foresaw  the  crumbling  of  the  worlds  and  their  destnic- 
tion  if  God  should  withdraw  the  Breath  of  his  Word. 
He  searched  the  Apocalypse  for  the  traces  of  that  Word. 
You  thought  him  mad.  Understand  him  better !  He 
was  seeking  pardon  for  the  work  of  his  genius. 

"Wilfrid,  you  have  come  here  hoping  to  make  me 
solve  equations,  or  rise  upon  a  rain-cloud,  or  plunge  into 
the  fiord  and  reappear  a  swan.  If  science  or  miracles 
were  the  end  and  object  of  humanity,  Moses  would  have 
bequeathed  to  joxx  the  law  of  fluxions  ;  Jesus  Christ 
would  have  lightened  the  darkness  of  A'our  sciences  ;  his 
apostles  would  have  told  you  whence  come  those  vast 
trains  of  gas  and  melted  metals,  attached  to  cores  which 
revolve  and  solidify  as  thej-  dart  through  ether,  or  vio- 
lently enter  some  system  and  combine  with  a  star, 
jostling  and  displacing  it  by  the  shock,  or  destroying 
it  by  the  infiltration  of  their  deadly  gases  ;  Sauit  Paul, 
instead  of  telling  you  to  live  in  God,  would  have  ex- 
plained why  food  is  the  secret  bond  among  all  creations 
and  the  evident  tie  between  all  living  Species.  In  these 
days  the  greatest  miracle  of  all  would  be  the  discovery 


148  Seraphita. 

of  the  squaring  of  the  circle,  —  a  problem  which  30U 
hold  to  be  insoluble,  but  which  is  doubtless  solved  in 
the  march  of  worlds  by  the  intersection  of  some  mathe- 
matical lines  whose  course  is  visible  to  the  eye  of  spirits 
who  have  reached  the  higher  spheres.  Believe  me, 
miracles  are  in  us,  not  without  us.  Here  natural  facts 
occur  which  men  call  supernatural.  God  would  have 
been  strangely  unjust  had  he  confined  the  testimony  of 
his  power  to  certain  generations  and  peoples  and  denied 
them  to  others.  The  brazen  rod  belongs  to  all.  Neither 
Moses,  nor  Jacob,  nor  Zoroaster,  nor  Paul,  nor  P3'thag- 
oras,  nor  Swedenborg,  not  the  humblest  Messenger 
nor  the  loftiest  Prophet  of  the  Most  High  are  greater 
than  you  are  capable  of  being.  Onl}',  there  come  to 
nations  as  to  men  certain  periods  when  Faith  is  theirs. 

"  If  material  science  be  the  end  and  object  of  human 
effort,  tell  me,  both  of  3'ou,  would  societies,  —  those 
great  centres  where  men  congregate,  —  would  they  per- 
petually be  dispersed  ?  If  civilization  were  the  object 
of  our  Species,  would  intelligence  perish?  would  it  con- 
tinue purely  individual?  The  grandeur  of  all  nations 
that  were  truly  great  was  based  on  exceptions ;  when 
the  exception  ceased  their  power  died.  If  such  were 
the  End-all,  Prophets,  Seers,  and  Messengers  of  God 
would  have  lent  their  hand  to  Science  rather  than  have 
given  it  to  Belief.  Surely  they  would  have  quickened 
your  brains  sooner  than  have  touched  your  hearts ! 
But  no  ;  one  and  all  they  came  to  lead  the  nations  back 
to  God ;  they  proclaimed  the  sacred  Path  in  simple 
words  that  showed  the  way  to  heaven  ;  all  were  wrapped 


Seraphita.  I49 

in  love  and  faith,  all  were  inspired  by  that  Word  which 
hovers  above  the  inhabitants  of  earth,  enfolding  them, 
inspiriting  them,  uplifting  them ;  none  were  prompted 
by  any  human  interest.  Your  great  geniuses,  your 
poets,  your  kings,  your  learned  men  are  engulfed  with 
their  cities ;  while  the  names  of  these  good  pastors  of 
humanity,  ever  blessed,  have  survived  all  cataclysms. 

"Alas!  we  cannot  understand  each  other  on  any 
point.  We  are  separated  by  an  abyss.  You  are  on 
the  side  of  darkness,  while  I  —  I  live  in  the  light,  the 
true  Light !  Is  this  the  word  that  you  ask  of  me  ?  I 
say  it  with  joy  ;  it  may  change  you.  Know  this :  there 
are  sciences  of  matter  and  sciences  of  spirit.  There, 
where  3'ou  see  substances,  I  see  forces  that  stretch  one 
toward  another  with  generating  power.  To  me,  the 
character  of  bodies  is  the  indication  of  their  principles 
and  the  sign  of  their  properties.  Those  principles  be- 
get affinities  which  escape  j-our  knowledge,  and  which 
are  linked  to  centres.  The  different  species  among 
which  life  is  distributed  are  unfailing  streams  which 
correspond  unfailingly  among  themselves.  Each  has 
his  own  vocation.  Man  is  effect  and  cause.  He  is  fed, 
but  he  feeds  in  his  turn.  When  you  call  God  a  Creator, 
you  dwarf  Him.  He  did  not  create,  as  you  think  He 
did,  plants  or  animals  or  stars.  Could  He  proceed  by 
a  variety  of  means  ?  Must  He  not  act  by  unity  of  com- 
position? Moreover,  He  gave  forth  principles  to  be 
developed,  according  to  His  universal  law,  at  the  will 
of  the  surroundings  in  which  they  were  placed.  Hence 
a  single  substance  and  motion,  a  single  plant,  a  single 


150  Seraphita. 

animal,  but  correlations  everywhere.  In  fact,  all  affini- 
ties are  linked  together  by  contiguous  simihtudes ;  the 
life  of  the  worlds  is  drawn  toward  the  centres  by  fam- 
ished aspiration,  as  you  are  drawn  by  hunger  to  seek 
food. 

"  To  give  you  an  example  of  affinities  linked  to  sim- 
ilitudes (a  secondar}'  law  on  which  the  creations  of  your 
thought  are  based),  music,  that  celestial  art,  is  the. 
working  out  of  this  principle  ;  for  is  it  not  a  comple- 
ment of  sounds  harmonized  by  number  ?  Is  not  sound  \ 
a  modification  of  air,  compressed,  dilated,  echoed? 
You  know  the  composition  of  air,  —  oxj'gen,  nitrogen, 
and  carbon.  As  you  cannot  obtain  sound  from  the 
void,  it  is  plain  that  music  and  the  human  voice  are  the 
result  of  organized  chemical  substances,  which  put 
themselves  in  unison  with  the  same  substances  pre- 
pared within  you  by  your  thought,  co-ordinated  by 
means  of  light,  the  great  nourisher  of  your  globe. 
Have  you  ever  meditated  on  the  masses  of  nitre  de- 
posited by  the  snow,  have  j-ou  ever  observed  a  thunder- 
storm and  seen  the  plants  breathing  in  from  the  air 
about  them  the  metal  it  contains,  without  concluding 
that  the  sun  has  fused  and  distributed  the  subtle  essence 
which  nourishes  all  things  here  below?  Swedenborg 
has  said,  '  The  earth  is  a  man.' 

' '  Your  Science,  which  makes  you  great  in  your  own 
eyes,  is  paltry  indeed  beside  the  light  which  bathes  a 
Seer.  Cease,  cease  to  question  me  ;  our  languages  are 
different.  For  a  moment  I  have  used  yours  to  cast,  if 
it  be  possible,  a  ray  of  faith  into  jour  soul ;  to  give 


Seraphita.  15]^ 

you,  as  it  were,  the  hem  of  mj-  garment  and  draw  you 
up  into  the  regions  of  Prayer.  Can  God  abase  Himself 
to  you  ?  Is  it  not  for  you  to  rise  to  Him  ?  If  human 
reason  finds  the  ladder  of  its  own  strength  too  weak 
to  bring  God  down  to  it,  is  it  not  evident  that  you  must 
find  some  other  path  to  reach  Him  ?  That  Path  is  in 
ourselves.  The  Seer  and  the  Believer  find  eyes  within 
their  souls  more  piercing  far  than  eyes  that  prole  the 
things  of  earth,  —  they  see  the  Dawn.  Hear  this  truth  : 
Your  science,  let  it  be  never  so  exact,  your  medita- 
tions, however  bold,  your  noblest  lights  are  Clouds. 
Above,  above  is  the  Sanctuary  whence  the  true  Lifht 
flows." 

She  sat  down  and  remained  silent;  her  calm  face 
bore  no  sign  of  the  agitation  which  orators  betray  after 
their  least  fervid  improvisations. 

Wilfrid  bent  toward  Monsieur  Becker  and  said  in  a 
low  voice,  "Who  taught  her  that?" 

*'  I  do  not  know,"  he  answered. 

"  He  was  gentler  on  the  Falberg,"  Minna  whispered 
to  herself. 

Seraphita  passed  her  hand  across  her  eyes  and  then 
said,  smiling :  — 

"You  are  very  thoughtful  to-night,  gentlemen.  You 
treat  Minna  and  me  as  though  we  were  men  to  whom 
you  must  talk  politics  or  commerce ;  whereas  we  are 
young  girls,  and  j'ou  ought  to  tell  us  tales  while  you 
drink  j'our  tea.  That  is  what  we  do.  Monsieur  Wilfrid, 
in  our  long  Norwegian  evenings.  Come,  dear  pastor, 
tell  me  some   Saga  that  I  have  not  heard, — that  of 


152  Seraphita. 

Frithiof,  the  chronicle  that  you  believe  and  have  so  often 
promised  me.  Tell  us  the  story  of  the  peasant  lad  who 
owned  the  ship  that  talked  and  had  a  soul.  Come !  I 
dream  of  the  frigate  EUida,  the  fairy  with  the  sails 
young  girls  should  navigate  !  " 

"  Since  we  have  returned  to  the  regions  of  Jarvis," 
said  Wilfrid,  whose  eyes  were  fastened  on  Seraphita  as 
those  of  a  robber,  lurking  in  the  darkness,  fasten  on  the 
spot  where  he  knows  the  jewels  lie,  "  tell  me  wh}-  you 
do  not  marry  ?  " 

(f  "You  are  all  born  widows  and  widowers,"  she  re- 
plied; "but  my  marriage  was  arranged  at  my  birth. 
I  am  betrothed." 

"  To  whom?  "  they  cried. 

"  Ask  not  my  secret,"  she  said ;  "I  will  promise,  if 
our  father  permits  it,  to  invite  you  to  these  mysterious   . 
nuptials." 

"Will  they  be  soon?" 

"  I  think  so." 

A  long  silence  followed  these  words. 

"The  spring  has  come!"  said  Seraphita,  suddenly. 
"  The  noise  of  the  waters  and  the  breaking  of  the 
ice  begins.  Come,  let  us  welome  the  first  spring  of 
the  new  century." 

She  rose,  followed  by  Wilfrid,  and  together  they 
went  to  a  window  which  David  had  opened.  After 
the  long  silence  of  winter,  the  waters  stirred  beneath 
the  ice  and  resounded  through  the  fiord  like  music,  — 
for  there  are  sounds  which  space  refines,  so  that  they 
reach  the  ear  in  waves  of  light  and  freshness. 


Seraphita.  153 

"Wilfrid,  cease  to  nourish  e^il  thoughts  whose  tri- 
umph would  be  hard  to  bear.  Your  desires  are  easily 
read  iu  the  fire  of  your  eyes.  Be  kiud ;  take  one  step 
forward  in  well-doing.  Advance  beyond  the  love  of 
man  and  sacrifice  yourself  completely  to  the  happiness 
of  her  you  love.  Obey  me ;  I  will  lead  you  in  a  path 
where  you  shall  obtain  the  distinctions  which  30U  crave, 
and  where  Love  is  infinite  indeed." 

She  left  him  thoughtful. 

"That  soft  creature!"  he  said  within  himself;  "is 
she  indeed  the  prophetess  whose  eyes  have  just  flashed 
lightnings,  whose  voice  has  rung  through  worlds,  whose 
hand  has  wielded  the  axe  of  doubt  against  our  sciences  ? 
Have  we  been  dreaming?     Am  I  awake? " 

"  Minna,"  said  Seraphitus,  returning  to  the  young 
girl,  "  the  eagle  swoops  where  the  carrion  lies,  but  the 
dove  seeks  the  mountain  spring  beneath  the  peaceful 
greenery  of  the  glades.  The  eagle  soars  to  heaven, 
the  dove  descends  from  it.  Cease  to  venture  into 
regions  where  thou  canst  find  no  spring  of  waters,  no 
umbrageous  shade.  If  on  the  Falberg  thou  couldst  not 
gaze  into  the  abyss  and  live,  keep  all  thy  strength  for 
him  who  will  love  thee.  Go,  poor  girl ;  thou  k  no  west, 
I  am  betrothed." 

Minna  rose  and  followed  Seraphitus  to  the  window 
where  Wilfrid  stood.  All  three  listened  to  the  Sieg 
bounding  under  the  rush  of  the  upper  waters,  which 
brought  down  ti-ees  uprooted  bj'  the  ice  ;  the  fiord  had 
regained  its  voice  ;  all  illusions  were  dispelled  !  They 
rejoiced  in  Nature  as  she  burst  her  bonds  and  seemed 


154  SerapJiita. 

to  answer  with  sublime  accord  to  the  Spirit  whose 
breath  had  wakened  her. 

When  the  three  guests  of  this  mysterious  being  left 
the  house,  the}'  were  filled  with  the  vague  sensation 
which  is  neither  sleep,  nor  torpor,  nor  astonishment, 
but  partakes  of  the  nature  of  each,  —  a  state  that  is 
neither  dusk  nor  dawn,  but  which  creates  a  thirst  for 
light.     All  three  were  thinking. 

"  I  begin  to  believe  that  she  is  indeed  a  Spirit  hidden 
in  human  form,"  said  Monsieur  Becker. 

Wilfrid,  re-entering  his  own  apartments,  calm  and 
convinced,  was  unable  to  struggle  against  that  influence 
so  divinely  majestic. 

Minna  said  in  her  heart,  "Why  will  he  not  let  me 
love  him !  " 


Seraphita.  155 


V. 

FAREWELL. 

There  is  in  man  an  almost  hopeless  phenomenon 
for  thoughtful  minds  who  seek  a  meaning  in  the  march 
of  civilization,  and  who  endeavor  to  give  laws  of  pro- 
gression to  the  movement  of  intelligence.  However  por- 
tentous a  fact  may  be,  or  even  supernatural,  —  if  such 
facts  exist,  —  however  solemul}'  a  miracle  may  be  done 
in  sight  of  all,  the  lightning  of  that  fact,  the  thunder- 
bolt of  that  miracle  is  quickly  swallowed  up  in  the 
ocean  of  life,  whose  surface,  scarcely  stirred  b}'  the 
brief  convulsion,  returns  to  the  level  of  its  habitual 
flow, 

A  Voice  is  heard  from  the  jaws  of  an  Animal ;  a 
Hand  writes  on  the  wall  before  a  feasting  Court ;  an 
Eye  gleams  in  the  slumber  of  a  king,  and  a  Prophet 
explains  the  dream ;  Death,  evoked,  rises  on  the  con- 
fines of  the  luminous  sphere  where  faculties  revive ; 
Spirit  annihilates  Matter  at  the  foot  of  that  mystic 
ladder  of  the  Seven  Spiritual  Worlds,  one  resting  upon 
another  in  space  and  revealing  themselves  in  shining 
waves  that  break  in  light  upon  the  steps  of  the  celes- 
tial Tabernacle.  But  however  solemn  the  inward 
Revelation,  however  clear  the  visible  outward  Sign, 
be  sure  that  on  the  morrow  Balaam  doubts  both  him- 


156  Seraphita. 

self  and  his  ass,  Belshazzar  and  Pharoah  call  Moses 
and  Daniel  to  qualify  the  Word.  The  Spirit,  de- 
scending, bears  man  above  this  earth,  opens  the  seas 
and  lets  him  see  their  depths,  shows  him  lost  species, 
wakens  dry  bones  whose  dust  is  the  soil  of  valleys ; 
the  Apostle  writes  the  Apocalypse,  and  twenty  cen- 
turies later  human  science  ratifies  his  words  and  turns 
his  visions  into  maxims.  And  what  comes  of  it  all? 
Why  this,  —  that  the  peoples  live  as  they  have  ever 
lived,  as  they  lived  in  the  first  Olympiad,  as  they  lived 
on  the  morrow  of  Creation,  and  on  the  eve  of  the  great 
catacl^'sm.  The  waves  of  Doubt  have  covered  all 
things.  The  same  floods  surge  with  the  same  meas- 
ured motion  on  the  human  granite  which  serves  as 
a  boundary  to  the  ocean  of  intelligence.  When  man 
has  inquired  of  himself  whether  he  has  seen  that  which 
he  has  seen,  whether  he  has  heard  the  words  that 
entered  his  ears,  whether  the  facts  were  facts  and  the 
idea  is  indeed  an  idea,  then  he  resumes  his  wonted 
bearing,  thinks  of  his  worldly  interests,  obeys  some 
envoy  of  death  and  of  oblivion  whose  dusky  mantle 
covers  like  a  pall  an  ancient  Humanity  of  which  the 
moderns  retain  no  memorj^  Man  never  pauses  ;  he 
goes  his  round,  he  vegetates  until  the  appointed  day 
when  his  Axe  falls.  If  this  wave  force,  this  pressure 
of  bitter  waters  prevents  all  progress,  no  doubt  it  also 
warns  of  death.  Spirits  prepared  by  faith  among  the 
higher  souls  of  earth  can  alone  perceive  the  mystic 
ladder  of  Jacob. 

After  listening  to  Seraphita's  answer  in  which  (being 


Seraphita.  157 

earnestly  questioned)  she  uurolled  before  their  eyes  a 
Divine  Perspective,  —  as  an  organ  fills  a  church  with 
sonorous  sound  and  reveals  a  musical  universe,  its 
solemn  tones  rising  to  the  loftiest  arches  and  playing, 
like  light,  upon  their  foliated  capitals,  —  Wilfrid  re- 
turned to  his  own  room,  awed  by  the  sight  of  a  world  in 
ruins,  and  on  those  ruins  the  brilliance  of  mjsterious 
lights  poured  forth  in  torrents  b}-  the  hand  of  a  ^oung 
girl.  On  the  morrow  he  still  thought  of  these  things, 
but  his  awe  was  gone  ;  he  felt  he  was  neither  destroyed 
nor  changed ;  his  passions,  his  ideas  awoke  in  full 
force,  fresh  and  vigorous.  He  went  to  breakfast  with 
Monsieur  Becker  and  found  the  old  man  absorbed  in 
the  "Treatise  on  Incantations,"  which  he  had  searched 
since  early  morning  to  convince  his  guest  that  there 
was  nothing  unprecedented  in  all  that  they  had  seen 
and  heard  at  the  Swedish  castle.  With  the  childlike 
trustfulness  of  a  true  scholar  he  had  folded  down  the 
pages  in  which  Jean  Wier  related  authentic  facts  which 
proved  the  possibility  of  the  events  that  had  happened 
the  night  before,  —  for  to  learned  men  an  idea  is  an 
event,  just  as  the  greatest  events^^often  present  no  idea 
at  all  to  them.  By  the  time  they  had  swallowed  their 
fifth  cup  of  tea,  these  philosophers  had  come  to  think 
the  mysterious  scene  of  the  preceding  evening  wholly 
natural.  The  celestial  truths  to  which  they  had  listened 
were  arguments  susceptible  of  examination ;  Seraphita 
was  a  girl,  more  or  less  eloquent ;  allowance  must  be 
made  for  the  charms  of  her  voice,  her  seductive  beaut}', 
her  fascinating  motions,  in  short,  for  all  those  oratorical 


158  Seraphita. 

arts  by  which  an  actor  puts  a  world  of  sentiment  and 
thought  into  phrases  which  are  often  commonplace. 

"  Bah !  "  said  the  worthy  pastor,  making  a  philosophi- 
cal gi-imace  as  he  spread  a  layer  of  salt  butter  on  his 
slice  of  bread,  "  the  final  word  of  all  these  fine  enigmas 
is  six  feet  under  ground." 

"But,"  said  Wilfrid,  sugaring  his  tea,  "I  cannot 
imagine  how  a  5'oung  girl  of  seventeen  can  know 
so  much ;  what  she  said  was  certainly  a  compact 
argument." 

"  Read  the  account  of  that  Italian  woman,"  said 
Monsieur  Becker,  "  who  at  the  age  of  twelve  spoke 
forty-two  languages,  ancient  and  modern ;  also  the 
history  of  that  monk  who  could  guess  thought  by 
smell.  I  can  give  you  a  thousand  such  cases  from 
Jean  Wier  and  other  writers." 

"  I  admit  all  that,  dear  pastor ;  but  to  my  thinking, 
Seraphita  would  make  a  perfect  wife." 

"  She  is  all  mind,"  said  Monsieur  Becker,  dubiously. 

Several  daj's  went  b}',  during  which  the  snow  in  the 
valleys  melted  graduall}-  away ;  the  green  of  the  forests 
and  of  the  grass  began  to  show ;  Norwegian  Nature 
made  ready  her  wedding  garments  for  her  brief  bridal 
of  a  day.  During  this  period,  when  the  softened  air 
invited  every  one  to  leave  the  house,  Seraphita  remained 
at  home  in  solitude.  When  at  last  she  admitted  Minna, 
the  latter  saw  at  once  the  ravages  of  inward  fever ; 
Seraphita's  voice  was  hollow,  her  skin  pallid ;  hitherto 
a  poet  might  have  compared  her  lustre  to  that  of 
diamonds,  —  now  it  was  that  of  a  topaz. 


Seraphita.  159 

"  Have  you  s<^en  her?  "  asked  Wilfrid,  who  had  wan- 
dered around  the  Swedish  dwelling  waiting  for  Minna's 
return. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  j'oung  girl,  weeping;  "We 
must  lose  him  ! " 

"Mademoiselle,"  cried  Wilfrid,  endeavoring  to  re- 
press the  loud  tones  of  his  angry  voice,  "do  not  jest 
with  me.  You  can  love  Seraphita  onlj-  as  one  j'ounor 
girl  can  love  another,  and  not  with  the  love  which  she 
inspires  in  me.  You  do  not  know  j'our  danger  if  my 
jealousy  were  really  aroused.  Why  can  1  not  go  to 
her?     Is  it  you  who  stand  in  my  way?" 

"  I  do  not  know  by  what  right  you  probe  my  heart," 
said  Minna,  calm  in  appearance,  but  inwardly  terrified. 
"Yes,  I  love  him,"  she  said  recovering  the  courage  of 
her  convictions,  that  she  might,  for  once,  confess  the 
religion  of  her  heart.  "  But  my  jealousy,  natural  as  it 
is  in  love,  fears  no  one  here  below.  Alas  !  I  am  jealous 
of  a  secret  feeling  which  absorbs  him.  Between  him 
and  me  there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed  which  I  cannot  cross. 
Would  that  I  knew  who  loves  him  best,  the  stars  or  I ! 
which  of  us  would  sacrifice  our  being  most  eagerh'  for 
his  happiness !  Wh}^  should  I  not  be  free  to  avow 
my  love?  In  the  presence  of  death  we  maj'  declare 
our  feelings,  —  and  Seraphitus  is  about  to  die." 

"  Minna,  you  are  mistaken ;  the  siren  I  so  love  and 
long  for,  she,  whom  I  have  seen,  feeble  and  languid,  on 
her  couch  of  furs,  is  not  a  joung  man." 

"  Monsieur,"  answered  Minna,  distrcssfull}',  "  the 
being  whose  powerful  hand  guided  me  on  the  Falberg, 


160  Seraphita. 

who  led  me  to  the  saeter  sheltered  beneath  the  Ice-Cap, 
there  —  "she  said,  pointing  to  the  peak,  "is  not  a 
feeble  girl.  Ah,  had  you  but  heard  him  prophesying ! 
His  poem  was  the  music  of  thought.  A  young  girl 
never  uttered  those  solemn  tones  of  a  voice  which 
stirred  my  soul." 

"  What  certainty  have  you?  "  said  Wilfrid. 
"  None  but  that  of  the  heart,"  answered  Minna. 
"  And  I,"  cried  Wilfrid,  casting  on  his  companion 
the  terrible  glance  of  the  earthl}^  desire  that  kills,  "I, 
too,  know  how  powerful  is  her  empire  over  me,  and  I 
will  undeceive  you." 

At  this  moment,  while  the  words  were  rushing  from 
Wilfrid's  lips  as  rapidly  as  the  thoughts  surged  in  his 
brain,  they  saw  Seraphita  coming  towards  them  from 
the  house,  followed  by  David.  The  apparition  calmed 
the  man's  excitement. 

"Look,"  he  said,  "could  an}'  but  a  woman  move 
with  that  grace  and  languor  ?  " 

"  He  suffers  ;  he  comes  forth  for  the  last  time,"  said 
Minna. 

David  went  back  at  a  sign  from  his  mistress,  who 
advanced  towards  Wilfrid  and  Minna. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  falls  of  the  Sieg,"  she  said,  ex- 
pressing one  of  those  desires  which  suddenly  possess 
the  sick  and  which  the  well  hasten  to  obey. 

A  thin  white  mist  covered  the  valleys  around  the 
fiord  and  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  whose  icy  sum- 
mits, sparkling  like  stars,  pierced  the  vapor  and  gave 
it  the  appearance  of  a  moving  milky  way.     The  sun 


Seraphita.  161 

was  visible  through  the  haze  like  a  globe  of  red  fire. 
Though  winter  still  lingered,  puffs  of  warm  air  laden 
with  the  scent  of  the  bireh-trees,  already  adorned  with 
their  rosy  efflorescence,  and  of  the  larches,  whose  silken 
tassels  were  beginning  to  appear,  —  breezes  tempered 
by  the  incense  and  the  sighs  of  earth,  —  gave  token  of 
tlie  glorious  Northern  spring,  the  rapid,  fleeting  joy  of 
that  most  melancholy  of  Natures.  The  wind  was  be- 
ginning to  lift  the  veil  of  mist  which  half-obscured  the 
gulf.  The  birds  sang.  The  bark  of  the  trees  where  the 
sun  had  not  yet  dried  the  clinging  hoar-frost  shone 
gayly  to  the  eye  in  its  fantastic  wreathings  which 
trickled  away  in  murmuring  rivulets  as  the  warmth 
reached  them.  The  three  friends  walked  in  silence 
along  the  shore.  Wilfrid  and  Minna  alone  noticed 
the  magic  transformation  that  was  taking  place  in  the 
monotonous  picture  of  the  winter  landscape.  Their 
companion  walked  in  thought,  as  though  a  voice  were 
sounding  to  her  ears  in  this  concert  of  Nature. 

Presently  they  reached  the  ledge  of  rocks  through 
which  the  Sieg  had  forced  its  way,  after  escaping  from 
the  long  avenue  cut  by  its  waters  in  an  undulating  line 
through  the  forest,  —  a  fluvial  pathway  flanked  by  aged 
firs  and  roofed  with  strong-ribbed  arches  like  those  of 
a  cathedral.  Looking  back  from  that  vantage-ground, 
the  whole  extent  of  the  fiord  could  be  seen  at  a  glance, 
with  the  open  sea  sparkling  on  the  horizon  beyond  it 
like  a  burnished  blade. 

At  this  moment  the  mist,  rolling  awa}',  left  the  sky 
blue  and  clear.     Among  the  valleys  and  around  the 

11 


162  Seraphita. 

trees  flitted  the  shining  fragments,  —  a  diamond  dust 
swept  b}'  the  freshening  breeze.     The   torrent   rolled 
on  toward  them  ;  along  its  length  a  vapor  rose,  tinted 
by  the  sun  with  every  color  of  his  light ;  the  decompos- 
ing rays  flashing  prismatic  fires  along  the  many-tinted 
scarf  of  waters.    The  rugged  ledge  on  which  they  stood 
was  carpeted  by  several  kinds  of  lichen,  forming  a  noble 
mat  variegated  by  moisture  and  lustrous  like  the  sheen 
of  a  silken  fabric.     Shrubs,  already  in  bloom,  crowned 
the  rocks  with  garlands.     Their  waving  foliage,  eager 
for  the  freshness  of  the  water,  drooped  its  tresses  above 
the  stream  ;  the  larches  shook  their  light  fringes  and 
played  with  the  pines,  stiff"  and  motionless  as  aged  men. 
This  luxuriant  beauty  was  foiled  by  the  solemn  colon- 
nades of  the  forest- trees,  rising  in  terraces  upon  the 
mountains,  and  by  the  calm  sheet  of  the  fiord,  lying 
below,  where  the  torrent  buried  its  fury  and  was  still. 
Beyond,  the  sea  hemmed  in  this  page  of  Nature,  written 
by  the  greatest  of  poets,  Chance  ;   to  whom  the  wild 
luxuriance  of  creation  when  apparently  abandoned  to 
itself  is  owing. 

The  village  of  Jarvis  was  a  lost  point  in  the  landscape, 
in  this  immensity  of  Nature,  sublime  at  this  moment  like 
all  things  else  of  ephemeral  life  which  present  a  fleeting 
image  of  perfection ;  for,  by  a  law  fatal  to  no  eyes  but 
our  own,  creations  which  appear  complete  —  the  love 
of  our  heart  and  the  desire  of  our  eyes  —  have  but  one 
spring-tide  here  below.  Standing  on  this  breast-work 
of  rock  these  three  persons  might  well  suppose  them- 
selves alone  in  the  universe. 


Seraphita.  163 

*'  What  beauty  !  "  cried  Wilfrid. 

"  Nature  sings  hymns,"  said  Seraphita.  "  Is  not  her 
music  exquisite?  Tell  me,  Wilfrid,  could  any  of  the 
women  you  once  knew  create  such  a  glorious  retreat 
for  herself  as  this?  I  am  conscious  here  of  a  feel- 
ing seldom  inspired  by  the  sight  of  cities,  a  longing 
to  lie  down  amid  this  quickening  verdure.  Here, 
with  eyes  to  heaven  and  an  open  heart,  lost  in  the 
bosom  of  immensity,  I  could  hear  the  sighing  of 
the  flower,  scarce  budded,  which  longs  for  wings,  or 
the  cry  of  the  eider  grieving  that  it  can  only  fly,  and 
remember  the  desires  of  man  who,  issuing  from  all,  is 
none  the  less  ever  longing.  But  that,  Wilfrid,  is  only 
a  woman's  thought.  You  find  seductive  fancies  in  the 
wreathing  mists,  the  light  embroidered  veils  which  Na- 
ture dons  like  a  coy  maiden,  in  this  atmosphere  where 
she  perfumes  for  her  spousals  the  greenery  of  her  tresses. 
You  seek  the  naiad's  form  amid  the  gauzy  vapors,  and 
to  3'our  thinking  my  ears  should  listen  only  to  the  virile 
voice  of  the  Torrent." 

"  But  Love  is  there,  like  the  bee  in  the  calyx  of  the 
flower,"  replied  Wilfrid,  perceiving  for  the  first  time 
a  trace  of  earthly  sentiment  in  her  words,  and  fancying 
the  moment  favorable  for  an  expression  of  his  passionate 
tenderness. 

"Always  there?"  said  Seraphita,  smiling.  Minna 
had  left  them  for  a  moment  to  gather  the  blue  saxifrages 
growing  on'a  rock  above. 

"  Always,"  repeated  Wilfrid.  "  Hear  me,"  he  said, 
with  a  masterful  glance  which  was  foiled  as  b}-  a  dia' 


164  Seraphita. 

mond  breast-plate.  "You  know  not  what  I  am,  nor 
what  I  can  be,  nor  what  I  will.  Do  not  reject  my  last 
entreaty.  Be  mine  for  the  good  of  that  world  whose 
happiness  you  bear  upon  your  heart.  Be  mine  that  my 
conscience  may  be  pure  ;  that  a  voice  divine  may  sound 
in  my  ears  and  infuse  Good  into  the  great  enterprise  I 
have  undertaken  prompted  b}^  my  hatred  to  the  nations, 
but  which  I  swear  to  accomplish  for  their  benefit  if  you 
will  walk  beside  me.  What  higher  mission  can  you  ask 
for  love?  what  nobler  part  can  woman  aspire  to?  I 
came  to  Norway  to  meditate  a  great  design." 

"  And  you  will  sacrifice  its  grandeur,"  she  said,  "  to 
an  innocent  girl  who  loves  you,  and  who  will  lead  you 
in  the  paths  of  peace." 

"  What  matters  sacrifice,"  he  cried,  "  if  I  have  you? 
Hear  my  secret.  I  have  gone  from  end  to  end  of  the 
North,  —  that  great  smithy  from  whose  anvils  new  races 
have  spread  over  the  earth,  like  human  tides  appointed 
to  refresh  the  wornout  civilizations.  I  wished  to  begin 
ray  work  at  some  Northern  point,  to  win  the  empire 
which  force  and  intellect  must  ever  give  over  a  primi- 
tive people ;  to  form  that  people  for  battle,  to  drive 
them  to  wars  which  should  ravage  Europe  like  a  con- 
flagration, crying  liberty  to  some,  pillage  to  others, 
glory  here,  pleasure  there !  —  I,  myself,  remaining  an 
image  of  Destiny,  cruel,  implacable,  advancing  like 
the  whirlwind,  which  sucks  from  the  atmosphere  the 
particles  that  make  the  thunderbolt,  and  falls  like  a 
devouring  scourge  upon  the  nations.  Europe  is  at  an 
epoch  when  she  awaits  the  new  Messiah  who  shall  de- 


Seraphita.  165 

stro}-  society  and  remake  it.  She  can  no  lono-er  believe 
except  in  him  who  crushes  her  under  foot.  The  dav  is 
at  hand  when  poets  and  historians  will  justify  me,  exalt 
me,  and  borrow  my  ideas,  mine !  And  all  the  while 
my  triumph  will  be  a  jest,  written  in  blood,  the  jest  of 
my  vengeance !  But  not  here,  Seraphita ;  what  I  see 
of  the  North  disgusts  me.  Hers  is  a  mere  blind  force  ; 
I  thirst  for  the  Indies !  I  would  rather  fight  a  selfish, 
cowardly,  mercantile  government.  Besides,  it  is  easier 
to  stir  the  imagination  of  the  peoples  at  the  feet  of  the 
Caucasus  than  to  argue  with  the  intellect  of  the  icy- 
lands  which  here  surround  me.  Therefore  am  I  tempted 
to  cross  the  Russian  steppes  and  pour  m}-  triumphant 
human  tide  through  Asia  to  the  Ganges,  and  overthrow 
the  British  rule.  Seven  men  have  done  this  thing  be- 
fore me  in  other  epochs  of  the  world.  I  will  emulate 
them.  I  will  spread  Art  like  the  Saracens,  hurled  by 
Mohammed  upon  Europe.  Mine  shall  be  no  paltr}- 
sovereignty  like  those  that  govern  to-da}'  the  ancient 
provinces  of  the  Roman  empire,  disputing  with  their 
subjects  about  a  customs  right !  No,  nothing  can  bar 
my  waj' !  Like  Genghis  Khan,  my  feet  shall  tread  a 
third  of  the  globe,  mj'  hand  shall  grasp  the  throat  of 
Asia  like  Aurung-Zeb.  Be  my  companion !  Let  me 
seat  thee,  beautiful  and  noble  being,  on  a  throne  I  I 
do  not  doubt  success,  but  live  within  my  heart  and  I 
am  sure  of  it." 

"  I  have  already  reigned,"  said  Seraphita,  coldly- . 

The  words  fell  as  the  axe  of  a  skilful  woodman  falls 
at  the  root  of  a  j'oung  tree  and  brings  it  down  at  a 


166  SerapUta. 

single  blow.  Men  alone  can  comprehend  the  rage  that 
a  woman  excites  in  the  soul  of  a  man  when,  after  show- 
ing her  his  strength,  his  power,  his  wisdom,  his  su- 
periority, the  capricious  creature  bends  her  head  and 
sa^-s,  "All  that  is  nothing;"  when,  unmoved,  she 
smiles  and  says,  "  Such  things  are  known  to  me,"  as 
though  his  power  were  nought. 

"  What !  "  cried  Wilfrid,  in  despair,  "  can  the  riches 
of  art,  the  riches  of  worlds,  the  splendors  of  a  court  —  " 

She  stopped  him  b}'  a  single  inflexion  of  her  lips,  and 
said,  "Beings  more  powerful  than  you  have  oflfered  me^l 
far  more." 

"  Thou  hast  no  soul,"  he  cried,  —  "  no  soul,  if  thou 
art  not  persuaded  by  the  thought  of  comforting  a  great 
man,  who  is  willing  now  to  sacrifice  all  things  to  live 
beside  thee  in  a  little  house  on  the  shores  of  a  lake," 

"  But,"  she  said,  "  I  am  loved  with  a  boundless  love." 

"By  whom?  "cried  Wilfrid,  approaching  Seraphita 
with  a  frenzied  movement,  as  if  to  fling  her  into  the 
foaming  basin  of  the  Sieg. 

She  looked  at  him  and  slowly  extended  her  arm,  point- 
ing to  Minna,  who  now  sprang  towards  her,  fair  and 
glowing  and  lovely  as  the  flowers  she  held  in  her  hand. 

"  Child  !  "  said  Seraphitus,  advancing  to  meet  her. 

Wilfrid  remained  where  she  left  him,  motionless  as 
the  rock  on  which  he  stood,  lost  in  thought,  longing  to 
let  himself  go  into  the  torrent  of  the  Sieg,  like  the  fallen 
trees  which  hurried  past  his  eyes  and  disappeared  in  the 
bosom  of  the  gulf. 

"  I  gathered  them  for  you,"  said  Minna,  offering  the 


Seraphita.  167 

bunch  of  saxifrages  to  the  being  she  adored.  '^  One  of 
them,  see,  this  one,"  she  added,  selecting  a  flower, 
"  is  like  that  j'ou  found  on  the  Falbero-." 

Seraphitus  looked  alternately  at  the  flower  and  at 
Minna. 

"  Why  question  me?     Dost  thou  doubt  me ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  young  girl,  "my  trust  in  you  is  in- 
finite. You  are  more  beautiful  to  look  upon  than  this 
glorious  nature,  but  3'our  mind  surpasses  in  intellect 
that  of  all  humanity.  When  I  have  been  with  j'ou  I 
seem  to  have  pra3'ed  to  God.     I  long  —  " 

"For  what?"  said  Seraphitus,  with  a  glance  that 
revealed  to  the  young  girl  the  vast  distance  which 
separated  them. 

"  To  sufl'er  in  j-our  stead." 

"Ah,  dangerous  being!"  cried  Seraphitus  in  his 
heart.  "Is  it  wrong,  oh  my  God !  to  desire  to  offer 
her  to  Thee?  Dost  thou  remember,  Minna,  what  I  said 
to  thee  up  there  ?  "  he  added,  pointing  to  the  summit  of 
the  Ice-Cap. 

"He  is  terrible  again,"  thought  Minna,  trembling 
with  fear. 

The  voice  of  the  Sieg  accompanied  the  thoughts  of 
the  three  beings  united  on  this  platform  of  projecting 
rock,  but  separated  in  soul  by  the  abj'sses  of  the 
Spiritual  World. 

"Seraphitus!  teach  me,"  said  Minna  in  a  silvery 
voice,  soft  as  the  motion  of  a  sensitive  plant,  "teach 
me  how  to  cease  to  love  you.  Who  could  fail  to  admire 
you  ;  love  is  an  admiration  that  never  wearies." 


168  Seraphita. 

"  Poor  child !  "  said  Seraphitus,  turning  pale  ;  "  there 
is  but  one  whom  thou  canst  love  in  that  way." 

"  Who?"  asked  Minna. 

"Thou  shalt  know  hereafter,"  he  said,  in  the  feeble 
voice  of  a  man  who  lies  down  to  die. 

"  Help,  help  !  he  is  d3dng  !  "  cried  Minna. 

Wilfrid  ran  towards  them.  Seeing  Seraphita  as  she 
lav  on  a  fragment  of  gneiss,  where  time  had  cast  its 
velvet  mantle  of  lustrous  lichen  and  tawny  mosses  now 
burnished  in  the  sunlight,  he  whispered  softly,  "  How 
beautiful  she  is  !  " 

"  One  other  look  !  the  last  that  I  shall  ever  cast  upon 
this  nature  in  travail,"  said  Seraphita,  rallying  her 
strength  and  rising  to  her  feet. 

She  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the  rocky  platform, 
whence  her  e^'es  took  in  the  scenery'  of  that  grand  and 
glorious  landscape,  so  verdant,  flower}',  and  animated, 
yet  so  lately  buried  in  its  winding-sheet  of  snow. 

"Farewell,"  she  said,  "farewell,  home  of  Earth, 
warmed  by  the  fires  of  Love ;  where  all  things  press 
with  ardent  force  from  the  centre  to  the  extremities  ; 
where  the  extremities  are  gathered  up,  like  a  woman's 
hair,  to  weave  the  mysterious  braid  which  binds  us  in 
that  invisible  ether  to  the  Thought  Divine  ! 

"  Behold  the  man  bending  above  that  furrow  mois- 
tened with  his  tears,  who  lifts  his  head  for  an  instant 
to  question  Heaven ;  behold  the  woman  gathering  her 
children  that  she  ma}'  feed  them  with  her  milk  ;  see 
him  who  lashes  the  ropes  in  the  height  of  the  gale  ;  see 
her  who  sits  in  the  hollow  of  the  rocks,   awaiting  the 


Seraphita.  169 

father!  Behold  all  they  who  stretch  their  hands  in 
want  after  a  hfetime  spent  in  thankless  toil.  To  all 
peace  and  courage,  and  to  all  farewell ! 

"Hear  you  the  cry  of  the  soldier,  dying  nameless 
and  unknown  ?  the  wail  of  the  man  deceived  who  weeps 
in  the  desert  ?  To  them  peace  and  courage ;  to  all 
farewell ! 

"  Farewell,  you  who  die  for  the  kings  of  the  earth  ! 
Farewell,  ye  people  without  a  countr}-  and  ye  countries 
without  a  people,  each  with  a  mutual  want.  Above 
all,  farewell  to  Thee  who  knew  not  where  to  la}'  Thy 
head,  Exile  divine !  Farewell,  mothers  beside  your 
dying  sons !  Farewell,  jq  Little  Ones,  ye  Feeble,  ye 
Suffering,  you  whose  sorrows  I  have  so  often  borne ! 
Farewell,  all  ye  who  have  descended  into  the  sphere  of 
Instinct  that  you  may  suffer  there  for  others  ! 

"  Farewell,  ye  mariners  who  seek  the  Orient  through 
the  thick  darkness  of  your  abstractions,  vast  as  prin- 
ciples !  Farewell,  mart^TS  of  thought,  led  b\'  thought 
into  the  presence  of  the  True  Light.  Farewell,  regions 
of  study  where  mine  eai's  can  hear  the  plaint  of  genius 
neglected  and  insulted,  the  sigh  of  the  patient  scholar 
to  whom  enliglitenment  comes  too  late  ! 

"  I  see  the  angelic  choir,  the  wafting  of  perfumes, 
the  incense  of  the  heart  of  those  who  go  their  wa}'  con- 
soling, praying,  imparting  celestial  balm  and  living 
light  to  suffering  souls  !  Courage,  ye  choir  of  Love ! 
you  to  whom  the  peoples  crj',  '  Comfort  us,  comfort  us, 
defend  us  ! '     To  you  courage  !  and  farewell ! 

"  Farewell,  ye  granite  rocks  that  shall  bloom  a  flower ; 


170  Seraphita. 

farewell,  flower  that  becomes  a  dove  ;  farewell,  dove  that 
shalt  be  woman ;  farewell,  woman,  who  art  Suflfering, 
man,  who  art  Belief!  Farewell,  you  who  shall  be  all 
love,  all  prayer !  " 

Broken  with  fatigue,  this  inexplicable  being  leaned 
for  the  first  time  on  Wilfrid  and  on  Minna  to  be  taken 
home.  Wilfrid  and  Minna  felt  the  shock  of  a  mj-sterious 
contact  in  and  through  the  being  who  thus  connected 
them.  They  had  scarcely  advanced  a  few  steps  when 
David  met  them,  weeping.  "  She  will  die,"  he  said, 
"why  have  you  brought  her  hither?" 

The  old  man  raised  her  in  his  arms  with  the  vigor  of 
youth  and  bore  her  to  the  gate  of  the  Swedish  castle 
like  an  eagle  bearing  a  white  lamb  to  his  mountain 
eyrie. 


SerajjJiita.  171 


VI. 

THE   PATH   TO   HEAVEN. 

The  da}'  succeeding  that  on  which  Seraphita  foresaw 
her  death  and  bade  farewell  to  Earth,  as  a  prisoner 
looks  round  his  dungeon  before  leaving  it  forever,  she 
suffered  pains  which  obliged  her  to  remain  in  the  help- 
less immobility  of  those  whose  pangs  are  great.  Wilfrid 
and  Minna  went  to  see  her,  and  found  her  lying  on  her 
couch  of  furs.  Still  veiled  in  flesh,  her  soul  shone 
through  that  veil,  which  grew  more  and  more  trans- 
parent day  by  day.  The  progress  of  the  Spirit,  piercing 
the  last  obstacle  between  itself  and  the  Infinite,  was 
called  an  illness,  the  hour  of  Life  went  by  the  name  of 
death.  David  wept  as  he  watched  her  sufferings  ;  un- 
reasonable as  a  child,  he  would  not  listen  to  his  mis- 
tress's consolations.  Monsieur  Becker  wished  Sera- 
phita to  try  remedies ;   but  all  were  useless. 

One  morning  she  sent  for  the  two  beings  whom  she 
loved,  telling  them  that  this  would  be  the  last  of  her 
bad  days.  Wilfrid  and  Minna  came  in  terror,  knowing 
well  that  they  were  about  to  lose  her.  Seraphita  smiled 
to  them  as  one  departing  to  a  better  world ;  her  head 
drooped  like  a  flower  heavy  with  dew,  which  opens  its 
calyx  for  the  last  time  to  waft  its  fragrance  on  the 
breeze.     She  looked  at  these  friends  with  a  sadness 


172  Serapfiita. 

that  was  for  them,  not  for  herself;  she  thought  no 
longer  of  herself,  and  they  felt  this  with  a  grief  min- 
gled with  gratitude  which  they  were  unable  to  express. 
Wilfrid  stood  silent  and  motionless,  lost  in  thoughts 
excited  by  events  whose  vast  bearings  enabled  him  to 
conceive  of  some  iUimitable  immensit}^ 

Emboldened  by  the  weakness  of  the  being  lately 
go  powerful,  or  perhaps  by  the  fear  of  losing  him  for- 
ever, Minna  bent  down  over  the  couch  and  said, 
"  Seraphitus,  let  me  follow  thee  !  " 

"Can  I  forbid  thee?" 

"  Whj-  will  thou  not  love  me  enough  to  stay  with 
me?" 

"  I  can  love  nothing  here." 

"  What  canst  thou  love? " 

"  Heaven." 

"  Is  it  worthy  of  heaven  to  despise  the  creatures  of 
God?" 

"  Minna,  can  we  love  two  beings  at  once?  Would 
our  beloved  be  indeed  our  beloved  if  he  did  not  fill  our 
hearts?  Must  he  not  be  the  first,  the  last,  the  only 
one?  She  who  is  all  love,  must  she  not  leave  the 
world  for  her  beloved?  Human  ties  are  but  a  memor}-, 
she  has  no  ties  except  to  him !  Her  soul  is  hers  no 
longer;  it  is  his.  If  she  keeps  within  her  soul  any- 
thing that  is  not  his,  does  she  love?  No,  she  loves 
not.  To  love  feebl}',  is  that  to  love  at  all?  The  voice 
of  her  beloved  makes  her  joyful ;  it  flows  through  her 
veins  in  a  crimson  tide  more  glowing  far  than  blood ; 
his  glance  is  the  light  that  penetrates  her ;   her  being 


Seraphita.  17g 

melts  into  his  being.  He  is  warm  to  her  soul.  He 
is  the  light  that  lightens  ;  near  to  him  there  is  neither 
cold  nor  darkness.  He  is  never  absent,  he  is  always 
with  us;  we  think  in  him,  to  him,  by  him!  Minna, 
that  is  how  I  love  him." 

"Love  whom?"  said  Minna,  tortured  with   sudden 
jealous}'. 

"  God,"  replied  Seraphitus,  his  voice  glowing  in  their 
souls  like  fires  of  libert}-  lighted  from  peak  to  peak  upon 
the  mountains,  —  "  God,  who  does  not  betray  us  !  God, 
who  will  never  abandon  us !  who  crowns  our  wishes ; 
who  satisfies  His  creatures  with  joy — jo}-  unalloved 
and  infinite  !  God,  who  never  wearies  but  ever  smiles  ! 
God,  who  pours  into  the  soul  fresh  treasures  day  by- 
day  ;  who  purifies  and  leaves  no  bitterness  ;  who  is  all 
harmony,  all  flame!  God,  who  has  placed  Himself 
within  our  hearts  to  blossom  there  ;  who  hearkens  to 
our  prayers  ;  who  does  not  stand  aloof  when  we  are  His, 
but  gives  His  presence  absolutely !  He  who  revives 
us,  magnifies  us,  and  multiplies  us  in  Himself;  God! 
Minna,  I  love  thee  because  thou  mayst  be  His  !  I  love 
thee  because  if  thou  come  to  Him  thou  wilt  be  mine." 

"  Lead  me  to  Him,"  cried  Minna,  kneeling  down  ; 
"  take  me  by  the  hand  ;   I  will  not  leave  thee  I  " 

"Lead  us,  Seraphita!"  cried  Wilfrid,  coming  to 
Minna's  side  with  an  impetuous  movement.  "  Yes, 
thou  hast  given  me  a  thirst  for  Light,  a  thirst  for  the 
Word.  I  am  parched  with  the  Love  thou  hast  put  into 
my  heart ;  I  desire  to  keep  thy  soul  in  mine  ;  thy  will  is 
mine  ;  I  will  do  whatsoever  thou  biddest  me.     Since  I 


174  Seraphita. 

cannot  obtain  thee,  I  will  keep  thy  will  and  all  the 
thoughts  that  thou  hast  given  me.  If  I  ma}'  not  unite  m}-- 
self  with  thee  except  by  the  power  of  my  spirit,  I  will 
cling  to  thee  in  soul  as  the  flame  to  what  it  laps.  Speak  !  " 

"Angel!"  exclaimed  the  mysterious  being,  enfold- 
ing them  both  in  one  glance,  as  it  were  with  an  azure 
mantle,  "Heaven  shall  be  thine  heritage!" 

Silence  fell  among  them  after  these  words,  which 
sounded  in  the  souls  of  the  man  and  of  the  woman  like 
the  first  notes  of  some  celestial  harmony. 

"  If  you  would  teach  your  feet  to  tread  the  Path  to 
heaven,  know  that  the  way  is  hard  at  first,"  said  the 
wear}'  sufferer  ;  ' '  God  wills  that  jou  shall  seek  Him  for 
Himself.  In  that  sense.  He  is  jealous  ;  He  demands 
3'our  whole  self  But  when  3"ou  have  given  Him  your- 
self, never,  never  will  He  abandon  3'ou.  I  leave  with 
you  the  kej'S  of  the  kingdom  of  His  Light,  where  ever- 
more you  shall  dwell  in  the  bosom  of  the  Father,  in  the 
heart  of  the  Bridegroom.  No  sentinels  guard  the  ap- 
proaches ;  3'ou  may  enter  where  3-ou  will ;  His  palaces. 
His  treasures,  His  sceptre,  all  are  free.  'Take  them  !' 
He  says.  But — 3'Ou  must  will  to  go  there.  Like 
one  preparing  for  a  journe3',  a  man  must  leave  his 
home,  renounce  his  projects,  bid  farewell  to  friends,  to 
father,  mother,  sister,  even  to  the  helpless  brother  who 
cries  after  him,  —  3-es,  farewell  to  them  eternally;  you 
will  no  more  return  than  did  the  mart3TS  on  their  way 
to  the  stake.  You  must  strip  3'ourself  of  every  senti- 
ment, of  everything  to  which  man  clings.  Unless  you 
do  this  3'OU  are  but  half-hearted  in  3'our  enterprise. 


SerapJiita.  I75 

"  Do  for  God  what  you  do  for  3-our  ambitious  pro- 
jects, what  3'ou  do  in  consecrating  yourself  to  Art,  what 
j-ou  have  done  when  you  loved  a  human  creature  or 
sought  some  secret  of  human  science.  Is  not  God  the 
whole  of  science,  the  all  of  love,  the  source  of  poetry? 
Surely  His  riches  are  worthy  of  being  coveted  !  His 
treasure  is  inexhaustible,  His  poem  infinite,  His  love 
immutable,  His  science  sure  and  darkened  by  no  mys- 
teries. Be  anxious  for  nothing,  He  will  give  you  all. 
Yes,  in  His  heart  are  treasures  with  which  the  petty 
joys  you  lose  on  earth  are  not  to  be  compared.  What 
I  tell  you  is  true ;  you  shall  possess  His  power ;  you 
may  use  it  as  you  would  use  the  gifts  of  lover  or  mis- 
tress. Alas  !  men  doubt,  they  lack  faith,  and  will,  and 
persistence.  If  some  set  their  feet  in  the  path,  they 
look  behind  them  and  presently  turn  back.  Few  de- 
cide between  the  two  extremes,  —  to  go  or  stav,  heaven 
or  the  mire.  All  hesitate.  Weakness  leads  astray, 
passion  allures  into  dangerous  paths,  vice  becomes 
habitual,  man  flounders  in  the  mud  and  makes  no 
progress  towards  a  better  state. 

"  All  human  beings  go  through  a  previous  life  in  the 
sphere  of  Instinct,  where  they  are  brought  to  see  the 
worthlessness  of  earthly  treasures,  to  amass  which  they 
gave  themselves  such  untold  pains  !  Who  can  tell  how 
many  times  the  humau  being  lives  in  the  sphere  of 
Instinct  before  he  is  prepared  to  enter  the  sphere  of 
Abstractions,  where  thought  expends  itself  on  erring 
science,  where  mind  wearies  at  last  of  human  lan- 
guage? for,  when  Matter  is  exhausted,  Spirit  enters. 


176  Seraphita. 

Who  knows  how  many  fleshly  forms  the  heir  of 
heaven  occupies  before  he  can  be  brought  to  under- 
stand the  value  of  that  silence  and  solitude  whose 
Starr}'  plains  are  but  the  vestibule  of  Spiritual  Worlds? 
He  feels  his  way  amid  the  void,  makes  trial  of  noth- 
ingness, and  then  at  last  his  eyes  revert  upon  the  Path. 
Then  follow  other  existences,  —  all  to  be  lived  to  reach 
the  place  where  Light  eflfulgent  shines.  Death  is  the 
post-bouse  of  the  journey.  A  lifetime  may  be  needed 
merely  to  gain  the  virtues  which  annul  the  errors  of 
man's  preceding  life.  First  comes  the  life  of  suffering, 
whose  tortures  create  a  thirst  for  love.  Next  the  life 
of  love  and  devotion  to  the  creature,  teaching  devo- 
tion to  the  Creator,  —  a  life  where  the  virtues  of  love, 
its  martj'rdoms,  its  joys  followed  by  sorrows,  its  angelic 
hopes,  its  patience,  its  resignation,  excite  an  appetite 
for  things  divine.  Then  follows  the  life  which  seeks 
in  silence  the  traces  of  the  Word ;  in  which  the  soul 
grows  humble  and  charitable.  Next  the  life  of  long- 
ing ;  and  lastly,  the  life  of  prayer.  In  that  is  the  noon- 
day sun  ;  there  are  the  flowers,  there  the  harvest ! 

"  The  virtues  we  acquire,  which  develop  slowly  within 
us,  are  the  invisible  links  that  bind  each  one  of  our  ex- 
istences to  the  others,  —  existences  which  the  spirit 
alone  remembers,  for  Matter  has  no  memory  for  spirit- U\ 
ual  things.  Thought  alone  holds  the  tradition  of  the 
bygone  life.  The  endless  legacy  of  the  past  to  the 
present  is  the  secret  source  of  human  genius.  Some 
receive  the  gift  of  form,  some  the  gift  of  numbers, 
others  the  gift  of  harmony.     All  these  gifts  are  steps  of 


Seraphita.  177 

progress  in  the  Path  of  Light.  Yes,  he  who  possesses 
a  single  one  of  them  touches  at  that  point  the  InGnite. 
Earth  has  divided  the  Word  —  of  which  I  here  reveal 
some  syllables  —  into  particles,  she  has  reduced  it  to 
dust  and  has  scattered  it  through  her  works,  her  do"-- 
raas,  her  poems.  If  some  impalpable  grain  shines  like 
a  diamond  in  a  human  work,  men  cry:  'How  grand!' 
how  true!  how  glorious!'  That  fragment  vibrates  in  \ 
their  souls  and  wakes  a  presentiment  of  heaven :  to 
some,  a  melody  that  weans  from  earth ;  to  others,  the 
solitude  that  draws  to  God.  To  all,  whatsoever  sends 
us  back  upon  ourselves,  whatsoever  strikes  us  down 
and  crushes  us,  lifts  or  abases  us,  —  that  is  but  a 
syllable  of  the  Divine  Word. 

"  When  a  human  soul  draws  its  first  furrow  straight, 
the  rest  will  follow  surely.  One  thought  borne  inward, 
one  prayer  uplifted,  one  suffering  endured,  one  echo  of 
the  Word  within  us,  and  our  souls  are  forever  changed. 
All  ends  in  God  ;  and  many  are  the  wa3-s  to  find  Ilim 
b}'  walking  straight  before  us.  When  the  happy  day 
arrives  in  which  you  set  your  feet  upon  the  Path  and 
begin  your  pilgrimage,  the  world  will  know  nothing  of 
it ;  earth  no  longer  understands  you  ;  j'ou  no  longer  un- 
derstand each  other.  Men  who  attain  to  a  knowledge 
of  these  things,  who  lisp  a  few  syllables  of  the  Word, 
often  have  not  where  to  lay  their  head ;  hunted  like 
beasts  they  perish  on  the  scaffold,  to  the  joy  of  assem- 
bled peoples,  while  Angels  open  to  them  the  gates  of 
heaven.  Therefore,  your  destiny  is  a  secret  between 
yourself  and  God,  just  as  love  is  a  secret  between  two 

12 


178  SerapJiita. 

hearts.  You  may  be  the  buried  treasure,  trodden  under 
the  feet  of  men  thirsting  for  gold  yet  all-unknowing  that 
you  are  there  beneath  them.      '  '  '     '' ' 

"  Henceforth  your  existence  becomes  a  thing  of 
ceaseless  activity  ;  each  act  has  a  meaning  which  con- 
nects you  with  God,  just  as  in  love  your  actions  and 
your  thoughts  are  filled  with  the  loved  one.  But  love 
and  its  joys,  love  and  its  pleasures  limited  b}'  the  senses, 
are  but  the  imperfect  image  of  the  love  which  unites 
you  to  your  celestial  Spouse.  All  earthly  joy  is  mixed 
with  anguish,  with  discontent.  If  love  ought  not  to 
pall  then  death  should  end  it  while  its  flame  is  high,  so 
that  we  see  no  ashes.  But  in  God  our  wretchedness 
becomes  delight,  joy  lives  upon  itself  and  multiplies, 
and  gi'ows,  and  has  no  limit.  In  the  Earthly  life  our 
fleeting  love  is  ended  by  tribulation ;  in  the  Spiritual 
life  the  tribulations  of  a  da}'^  end  in  joys  unending.  The 
soul  is  ceaselessly  J03'ful.  We  feel  God  with  us,  in  us  ; 
He  gives  a  sacred  savour  to  all  things ;  He  shines  in 
the  soul ;  He  imparts  to  us  His  sweetness ;  He  stills 
our  interest  in  the  world  viewed  for  ourselves ;  He 
quickens  our  interest  in  it  viewed  for  His  sake,  and 
grants  us  the  exercise  of  His  power  upon  it.  In  His 
name  we  do  the  works  which  He  inspires,  we  act  for 
Him,  we  have  no  self  except  in  Him,  we  love  His  crea- 
tures with  undying  love,  we  dry  their  tears  and  long  to 
bring  them  unto  Him,  as  a  loving  woman  longs  to  see 
the  inhabitants  of  earth  obey  her  well-beloved. 

"  The  final  life,  the  fruition  of  all  other  lives,  to 
.<«hich  the  powers  of  the  soul  have  tended,  and  whose 


•    Seraphita.  179 

merits  open  the  Sacred  Portals  to  perfected  man,  is  the 
life  of  Praj-er.  Who  can  make  30U  comprehend  the 
grandeur,  the  majest}-,  the  might  of  Pra^-er?  Maj-  mv 
voice,  these  words  of  mine,  ring  in  your  hearts  and 
change  them.  Be  now,  here,  what  you  may  be  after 
cruel  trial !  There  are  privileged  beings,  Prophets, 
Seers,  Messengers,  and  Martyrs,  all  those  who  suffer 
for  the  Word  and  who  proclaim  it ;  such  souls  spring 
at  a  bound  across  the  human  sphere  and  rise  at  once  to 
Prayer.  So,  too,  with  those  whose  souls  receive  the 
fire  of  Faith.  Be  one  of  those  brave  souls !  God 
welcomes  boldness.  He  loves  to  be  taken  by  vio- 
lence ;  He  will  never  reject  those  who  force  their  way 
to  Him.  Know  this !  desire,  the  torrent  of  your  will, 
is  so  aU-powerful  that  a  single  emission  of  it,  made 
with  force,  can  obtain  all ;  a  single  cry,  uttered  under 
the  pressure  of  Faith,  suffices.  Be  one  of  such  beings, 
full  of  force,  of  will,  of  love !  Be  conquerors  on  the 
earth  !  Let  the  hunger  and  thirst  of  God  possess  you.  j^^j'^ 
Fly  to  Him  as  the  hart  panting  for  the  water-brooks. 
Desire  shall  lend  you  its  wings ;  tears,  those  blossoms 
of  repentance,  shall  be  the  celestial  baptism  from  which 
\-our  nature  will  issue  purified.  Cast  j-ourself  on  the 
breast  of  the  stream  in  Prayer !  Silence  and  medita- 
tion are  the  means  of  following  the  Way.  God  re- 
veals Himself,  unfailingly,  to  the  solitary,  thoughtful 
seeker. 

"  It  is  thus  that  the  separation  takes  place  between 
Matter,  which  so  long  has  wrapped  its  darkness  round 
you,  and  Spirit,  which  was  in  you  from  the  beginning, 


180  Seraphita. 

the  light  which  lighted  you  and  now  brings  noon-day 
to  your  soul.  Yes,  your  broken  heart  shall  receive  the 
light ;  the  light  shall  bathe  it.  Then  j'ou  will  no  longer 
feel  convictions,  they  will  have  changed  to  certainties. 
The  Poet  utters  ;  the  Thinker  meditates  ;  the  Righteous 
acts ;  but  he  who  stands  upon  the  borders  of  the  Di- 
vine World  prays ;  and  his  prayer  is  word,  thought, 
action,  in  one  !  Yes,  prayer  includes  all,  contains  all ; 
it  completes  nature,  for  it  reveals  to  j'ou  the  mind 
within  it  and  its  progression.  White  and  shining  virgin 
of  all  human  virtues,  ark  of  the  covenant  between  earth 
and  heaven,  tender  and  strong  companion  partaking  of 
the  lion  and  of  the  lamb,  Prayer!  Prayer  will  give? 
you  the  'key  of  heaven !  Bold  and  pure  as  innocence, 
strong,  like  all  that  is  single  and  simple,  this  glorious, 
invincible  Queen  rests,  nevertheless,  on  the  material 
world ;  she  takes  possession  of  it ;  like  the  sun,  she 
clasps  it  in  a  circle  of  light.  The  universe  belongs  to 
him  who  wills,  who  knows,  who  prays  ;  but  he  must 
will,  he  must  know,  he  must  praj' ;  in  a  word,  he  must 
possess  force,  wisdom,  and  faith. 

"  Therefore  Prayer,  issuing  from  so  man}'  trials,  is 
the  consummation  of  all  truths,  all  powers,  all  feelings. 
Fruit  of  the  laborious,  progressive,  continued  develop- 
ment of  natural  properties  and  faculties  vitalized  anew 
by  the  divine  breath  of  the  Word,  Praj-er  has  oc- 
cult activity ;  it  is  the  final  worship  —  not  the  ma- 
terial worship  of  images,  nor  the  spiritual  worship  of 
formulas,  but  the  worship  of  the  Divine  World.  We 
say   no   pra3'ers,  —  praj-er   forms   within   us ;    it  is   a 


Seraphita.  181 

faculty  which  acts  of  itself;  it  has  attained  a  wa}' 
of  action  which  lifts  it  outside  of  forms ;  it  links 
the  soul  to  God,  with  whom  we  unite  as  the  root  of  the 
tree  unites  with  the  soil ;  our  veins  draw  life  from  the 
principle  of  life,  and  we  live  b}-  the  life  of  the  universe. 
Prayer  bestows  external  conviction  by  making  us  pene- 
trate the  Material  "World  through  the  cohesion  of  all 
our  faculties  with  the  elementary  substances ;  it  be- 
stows internal  conviction  by  developing  our  essence 
and  mingling  it  with  that  of  the  Spiritual  Worlds.  To 
be  able  to  pray  thus,  you  must  attain  to  an  utter  aban- 
donment of  flesh ;  3'ou  must  acquire  through  the  fires 
of  the  furnace  the  purity  of  the  diamond ;  for  this  com- 
plete communion  with  the  Divine  is  obtained  only  in 
absolute  repose,  where  storms  and  conflicts  are  at  rest. 

"Yes,  Praj'er  —  the  aspiration  of  the  soul  freed  ab- 
^olutel}'  from  the  body  —  bears  all  forces  within  it,  and 
applies  them  to  the  constant  and  perseverant  union  of 
the  Visible  and  the  Invisible.  When  you  possess  the 
faculty  of  praying  without  weariness,  with  love,  with 
force,  with  certainty-,  with  intelligence,  your  spiritual- 
ized nature  will  presently'  be  invested  with  power. 
Like  a  rushing  wind,  like  a  thunderbolt,  it  cuts  its 
■way  through  all  things  and  shares  the  power  of  God. 
The  quickness  of  the  Spirit  becomes  3'ours ;  in  an 
instant  you  may  pass  from  region  to  region ;  like  the 
Word  itself,  you  are  transported  from  the  ends  of  the 
world  to  other  worlds.  Harmony  exists,  and  you  are 
part  of  it !  Light  is  there  and  3'our  eyes  possess  it ! 
Melody  is  heard  and  you  echo  it!     Under  such  con- 


182  Seraphita. 

ditions,  you  feel  your  perceptions  developing,  widening  ; 
the  eyes  of  your  mind  reach  to  vast  distances.  There 
is,  in  truth,  neither  time  nor  place  to  the  Spirit  -,  space 
and  duration  are  proportions  created  for  Matter ;  spirit 
and  matter  have  naught  in  common 

"  Though  these  things  take  place  in  stillness,  in 
silence,  without  agitation,  without  external  movement, 
yet  Prayer  is  all  action ;  but  it  is  spiritual  action, 
stripped  of  substantialit}-,  and  reduced,  like  the  motion 
of  the  worlds,  to  an  invisible  pure  force.  It  penetrates 
everywhere  like  light;  it  gives  vitality  to  souls  that 
come  beneath  its  rays,  as  Nature  beneath  the  sun.  It 
resuscitates  virtue,  purifies  and  sanctifies  all  actions, 
peoples  solitude,  and  gives  a  foretaste  of  eternal  joys. 
When  you  have  once  felt  the  delights  of  the  divine 
intoxication  which  comes  of  this  internal  travail,  then 
all  is  yours !  once  take  the  lute  on  which  we  sing  to 
God  within  your  hands,  and  you  will  never  part  with 
it.  Hence  the  solitude  in  which  Angelic  Spirits  live ; 
hence  their  disdain  of  human  joys.  They  are  with- 
drawn from  those  who  must  die  to  live ;  they  hear  the 
language  of  such  beings,  but  they  no  longer  understand 
their  ideas ;  they  wonder  at  their  movements,  at  what 
the  world  terms  policies,  material  laws,  societies.  For 
them  all  mysteries  are  over ;  truth,  and  truth  alone,  is 
theirs.  They  who  have  reached  the  point  where  their 
eyes  discern  the  Sacred  Portals,  who,  not  looking  back, 
not  uttering  one  regret,  contemplate  worlds  and  com- 
prehend their  destinies,  such  as  they  keep  silence, 
wait,  and  bear  their  final  struggles.     The  worst  of  all 


Seraphita.  183 

those  struggles  is  the  last ;  at  the  zenith  of  all  virtue 
is  Resignation,  —  to  be  an  exile  and  not  lament,  no 
longer  to  delight  in  earthly  things  and  yet  to  smile,  to 
belong  to  God  and  yet  to  stay  with  men  !  You  hear 
the  voice  that  cries  to  you,  '  Advance  !  *  Often  celestial 
visions  of  descending  Angels  compass  you  about  with 
songs  of  praise ;  then,  tearless,  uncomplaining,  must 
you  watch  them  as  they  reascend  the  skies !  To  mur- 
mur is  to  forfeit  all.  Resignation  is  a  fruit  that  ripens 
at  the  gates  of  heaven.  How  powerful,  how  glorious 
the  calm  smile,  the  pure  brow  of  the  resigned  human 
creature.  Radiant  is  the  light  of  that  brow.  They  who 
live  in  its  atmosphere  gi-ow  purer.  That  calm  glance 
penetrates  and  softens.  More  eloquent  by  silence  than 
the  prophet  by  speech,  such  beings  triumph  by  their 
simple  presence.  Their  ears  are  quick  to  hear  as  a 
faithful  dog  listening  for  his  master.  Brighter  than 
hope,  stronger  than  love,  higher  than  faith,  that  crea- 
ture of  resignation  is  the  virgin  standing  on  the  earth, 
who  holds  for  a  moment  the  conquered  palm,  then, 
rising  heavenward,  leaves  behind  her  the  imprint  of  her 
white,  pure  feet.  When  she  has  passed  away  men  flock 
around  and  cry,  '  See  !  See  ! '  Sometimes  God  holds 
her  still  in  sight,  —  a  figure  to  whose  feet  creep  Forms 
and  Species  of  Animality  to  be  shown  their  way.  She 
wafts  the  light  exhahng  from  her  hair,  and  they  see ; 
she  speaks,  and  thej'  hear.  '  A  miracle ! '  they  cr}". 
Often  she  triumphs  in  the  name  of  God ;  frightened 
men  deny  her  and  put  her  to  death ;  smiling,  she  lays 
down  her  sword  and  goes  to  the  stake,  having  saved  the 


184  SerapMta. 

Peoples.  How  many  a  pardoned  Angel  has  passed 
from  martyrdom  to  heaven !  Sinai,  Golgotha  are  not 
in  this  place  nor  in  that;  Angels  are  crucified  in  every 
place,  in  every  sphere.  Sighs  pierce  to  God  from  the 
whole  universe.  This  earth  on  which  we  live  is  but  a 
single  sheaf  of  the  great  harvest ;  humanity  is  but  a 
species  in  the  vast  garden  where  the  flowers  of  heaven  ^ 
are  cultivated.  Everywhere  God  is  like  unto  Himself, 
and  everywhere,  by  prayer,  it  is  easy  to  reach  Him." 

With  these  words,  which  fell  from  the  lips  of  another 
Hagar  in  the  wilderness,  burning  the  souls  of  the 
hearers  as  the  live  coal  of  the  word  inflamed  Isaiah, 
this  mysterious  being  paused  as  though  to  gather  some 
remaining  strength.  Wilfrid  and  Minna  dared  not 
speak.     Suddenly  He  lifted  himself  up  to  die  :  — 

"  Soul  of  all  things,  oh  my  God,  thou  whom  I  love 
for  Thyself  !  Thou,  Judge  and  Father,  receive  a  love 
which  has  no  limit.  Give  me  of  thine  essence  and 
thy  faculties  that  I  be  wholly  thine!  Take  me,  that 
I  no  longer  be  myself  !  Am  I  not  purified?  then  cast 
me  back  into  the  furnace!  If  I  be  not  yet  proved  in 
the  fire,  make  me  some  nurturing  ploughshare,  or  the 
Sword  of  victory!  Grant  me  a  glorious  martyrdom  in 
which  to  proclaim  thy  Word !  Rejected,  I  will  bless 
thy  justice.  But  if  excess  of  love  may  win  in  a  moment 
that  which  hard  and  patient  labor  cannot  attain,  then 
bear  me  upward  in  thy  chariot  of  fire!  Grant  me 
triumph,  or  further  trial,  still  will  I  bless  thee !  To 
suffer  for  thee,  is  not  that  to  triumph  ?  Take  me,  seize 
me,  bear  me  away !  nay,  if  thou  wilt,  reject  me !     Thou 


Seraphita.  185 

art  He  who  can  do  no  evil.     Ah!"  he  cried,  after  a 
pause,  "  the  bonds  are  breaking." 

"Spirits  of  the  pure,  ye  sacred  flock,  come  forth 
from  the  hidden  places,  come  on  the  sm*face  of  the 
luminous  waves  !  The  hour  now  is  ;  come,  assemble  ! 
Let  us  sing  at  the  gates  of  the  Sanctuary ;  our  songs 
shall  drive  away  the  final  clouds.  With  one  accord  let 
us  hail  the  Dawn  of  the  Eternal  Day.  Behold  the 
rising  of  the  one  True  Light !  Ah,  why  may  I  not 
take  with  me  these  my  friends !  Farewell,  poor  earth, 
Farewell ! " 


186  Seraphita, 


vn. 

THE  ASSUMPTION. 

The  last  psalm  was  uttered  neither  by  word,  look, 
nor  gesture,  nor  by  any  of  those  signs  which  men  em- 
ploy to  communicate  their  thoughts,  but  as  the  soul 
speaks  to  itself;  for  at  the  moment  when  Seraphita 
revealed  herself  in  her  true  nature,  her  thoughts  were 
no  longer  enslaved  by  human  words.  The  violence  of 
that  last  prayer  had  burst  her  bonds.  Her  soul,  like  a 
white  dove,  remained  for  an  instant  poised  above  the 
body  whose  exhausted  substances  were  about  to  be 
annihilated. 

The  aspiration  of  the  Soul  toward  heaven  was  so 
contagious  that  Wilfrid  and  Minna,  beholding  those 
radiant  scintillations  of  Life,  perceived  not  Death. 

They  had  fallen  on  their  knees  when  he  had  turned 
toward  his  Orient,  and  they  shared  his  ecstasy. 

The  fear  of  the  Lord,  which  creates  man  a  second 
time,  purging  awa}'  his  dross,  mastered  their  hearts. 

Their  eyes,  veiled  to  the  things  of  Earth,  were  opened 
to  the  Brightness  of  Heaven. 

Though,  like  the  Seers  of  old  called  Prophets  by  men, 
they  were  filled  with  the  terror  of  the  Most  High,  yet 
like  them  they  continued  firm  when  they  found  them- 
selves within  the  radiance  where  the  Glory  of  the 
Spirit  shone. 


Seraphita.  187 

The  veil  of  flesh,  which,  until  now,  had  hidden  that 
glor}'  fi-om  their  ej'es,  dissolved  imperceptilDly  away, 
and  left  them  free  to  behold  the  Divine  substance. 

They  stood  in  the  twilight  of  the  Coming  Dawn, 
whose  feeble  rays  prepared  them  to  look  upon  the 
True  Light,  to  hear  the  Living  Word,  and  3'et  not  die. 

In  this  state  the}'  began  to  perceive  the  immeasur- 
able differences  which  separate  the  things  of  earth  from 
the  things  of  Heaven. 

Life,  on  the  borders  of  which  the}'  stood,  leaning 
upon  each  other,  trembling  and  illuminated,  like  two 
children  standing  under  shelter  in  presence  of  a  con- 
flagration. That  Life  offered  no  lodgment  to  the  senses. 

The  ideas  they  used  to  interpret  their  vision  to  them- 
selves were  to  the  things  seen  what  the  visible  senses 
of  a  man  are  to  his  soul,  the  material  covering  of  a 
divine  essence. 

The  departing  Spirit  was  above  them,  shedding  in- 
cense without  odor,  melody  without  sound.  About 
them,  where  they  stood,  were  neither  surfaces,  nor 
angles,  nor  atmosphere. 

They  dared  neither  question  him  nor  contemplate 
him ;  they  stood  in  the  shadow  of  that  Presence  as 
beneath  the  burning  rays  of  a  tropical  sun,  fearing  to 
raise  their  eyes  lest  the  light  should  blast  them. 

They  knew  they  were  beside  him,  without  being  able 
to  perceive  how  it  was  that  they  stood,  as  in  a  dream, 
on  the  confines  of  the  Visible  and  the  Invisible,  nor 
how  they  had  lost  sight  of  the  Visible  and  how  they 
beheld  the  Invisible. 


188  SerapTiita. 

To  each  other  they  said:  "If  he  touch  us,  we  can 
die !  "  But  the  Spirit  was  now  within  the  Infinite, 
and  thej'  knew  not  that  neither  time,  nor  space,  nor 
death,  existed  there,  and  that  a  great  gulf  lay  between 
them,  although  they  thought  themselves  beside  him. 

Their  souls  were  not  prepared  to  receive  in  its  ful- 
ness a  knowledge  of  the  faculties  of  that  Life ;  they 
could  have  only  faint  and  confused  perceptions  of  it, 
suited  to  their  weakness. 

Were  it  not  so,  the  thunder  of  the  Living  "VVord,. 
whose  far-off  tones  now  reached  their  ears,  and  whose 
meaning  entered  their  souls  as  life  unites  with  bod}',  — 
one  echo  of  that  Word  would  have  consumed  their  being 
as  a  whirlwind  of  fire  laps  up  a  fragile  straw. 

Therefore  they  saw  only  that  which  their  nature, 
sustained  by  the  strength  of  the  Spirit,  permitted  them 
to  see ;  they  heard  that  only  which  they  were  able  to 
hear. 

And  3'et,  though  thus  protected,  they  shuddered  when 
the  Voice  of  the  anguished  soul  broke  forth  above  them 
—  the  prayer  of  the  Spirit  awaiting  Life  and  imploring^ 
it  with  a  cry. 

That  cry  froze  them  to  the  very  marrow  of  their 
bones. 

The  Spirit  knocked  at  the  Sacred  Portal.  ' '  What 
wilt  thou?"  answered  a  Choir,  whose  question  echoed 
among  the  worlds.  "  To  go  to  God."  "  Hast  thou  con- 
quered?" "I  have  conquered  the  flesh  through  absti- 
nence, I  have  conquered  false  knowledge  by  humility, 
I   have   conquered  pride  by  charity,  I  have  conquered 


Seraphita.  189 

the  earth  b}-  love  ;  I  have  paid  my  duos  b}-  suffering, 
I  am  purified  in  the  fires  of  faith,  I  have  longed  for  Life 
by  pra^-er :  I  wait  in  adoration,  and  I  am  resigned." 

No  answer  came. 

"  God's  will  be  done  !  "  answered  the  Spirit,  believ- 
ing that  he  was  about  to  be  rejected. 

His  tears  flowed  and  fell  hke  dew  upon  the  heads  of 
the  two  kneeling  witnesses,  who  trembled  before  the 
justice  of  God. 

Suddenl}'  the  trumpets  sounded,  —  the  trumpets  of 
Victory  won  by  the  Angel  in  this  last  trial.  The  re- 
verberation passed  through  space  as  sound  through  its 
echo,  filling  it,  and  shaking  the  universe  which  Wilfrid 
and  Minna  felt  like  an  atom  beneath  their  feet.  They 
trembled  under  an  anguish  caused  b}'  the  dread  of  the 
myster}'  about  to  be  accomplished. 

A  great  movement  took  place,  as  though  the  Eternal 
Legions,  putting  themselves  in  motion,  were  passing 
upward  in  spiral  columns.  The  worlds  revolved  like 
clouds  driven  by  a  furious  wind.     It  was  all  rapid. 

Suddenl}'  the  veils  were  rent  away.  The}'  saw  on 
high  as  it  were  a  star,  incomparably  more  lustrous  than 
the  most  luminous  of  material  stars,  which  detached  it- 
self, and  fell  like  a  thunderbolt,  dazzling  as  lightning. 
Its  passage  paled  the  faces  of  the  pair,  who  thought  it 
to  be  THE  Light  Itself. 

It  was  the  Messenger  of  good  tidings,  the  plume  of 
whose  helmet  was  a  flame  of  Life. 

Behind  him  lay  the  swath  of  his  way  gleaming  with  a 
flood  of  the  lights  through  which  he  passed. 


190  Seraphita. 

He  bore  a  palm  and  a  sword.  He  touched  the  Spirit 
with  the  palm,  and  the  Spirit  was  transfigured.  Its 
white  wings  noiselessly  unfolded. 

This  communication  of  The  Light,  changing  the 
Spirit  into  a  Seraph  and  clothing  it  with  a  glorious 
form,  a  celestial  armor,  poured  down  such  effulgent 
rays  that  the  two  Seers  were  paralyzed. 

Like  the  three  apostles  to  whom  Jesus  showed  him- 
self, they  felt  the  dead  weight  of  their  bodies  which 
denied  them  a  complete  and  cloudless  intuition  of  The 
Word  and  The  True  Life. 

They  comprehended  the  nakedness  of  their  souls ; 
they  were  able  to  measure  the  poverty-  of  their  light  by 
comparing  it  —  a  humbling  task  —  with  the  halo  of  the 
Seraph. 

A  passionate  desire  to  plunge  back  into  the  mire  of 
earth  and  suffer  trial  took  possession  of  them,  —  trial 
through  which  they  might  victoriously  utter  at  the 
Sacred  Gates  the  words  of  that  radiant  Seraph. 

The  Seraph  knelt  before  the  Sanctuary,  beholding 
it,  at  last,  face  to  face ;  and  he  said,  raising  his  hands 
thitherward,  "Grant  that  these  two  may  have  further 
sight ;  they  will  love  the  Lord  and  proclaim  His  word." 

At  this  prayer  a  veil  fell.  Whether  it  were  that  the 
hidden  force  which  held  the  Seers  had  momentarily 
annihilated  their  physical  bodies,  or  that  it  raised  their 
spirits  above  those  bodies,  certain  it  is  that  they  felt 
within  them  a  rending  of  the  pure  from  the  impure. 

The  tears  of  the  Seraph  rose  about  them  like  a  vapor, 
which  hid  the  lower  worlds  from  their  knowledge,  held 


Seraphita.  \^\ 

them  in  its  folds,  bore  them  upward,  gave  them  fort^et- 
fulness  of  earthly  meanings  and  the  power  of  compre- 
hending the  meanings  of  things  divine. 

The  True  Light  shone  ;  it  illumined  the  Creations, 
which  seemed  to  them  barren  when  the}-  saw  the  source 
from  which  all  worlds  —  Terrestrial,  Spiritual,  and 
Divine  —  derived  their  Motion. 

Each  world  possessed  a  centre  to  which  converged  all 
points  of  Its  circumference.  These  worlds  were  them- 
selves the  points  which  moved  toward  the  centre  of 
their  system.  Each  system  had  its  centre  in  great 
celestial  regions  which  communicated  with  the  flamino- 
and  quenchless  Motor  of  all  that  is. 

Thus,  from  the  greatest  to  the  smallest  of  the  worlds, 
and  from  the  smallest  of  the  worlds  to  the  smallest 
portion  of  the  beings  who  compose  it,  all  was  individual, 
and  all  was,  nevertheless,  One  and  indivisible. 

What  was  the  design  of  the  Being,  fixed  in  His  es- 
sence and  in  His  faculties,  who  transmitted  that  essence 
and  those  faculties  without  losing  them?  who  mani- 
fested them  outside  of  Himself  without  separating  them 
from  Himself?  who  rendered  his  creations  outside  of 
Himself  fixed  in  their  essence  and  mutable  in  their 
form?  The  pair  thus  called  to  the  celestial  festival 
could  onlj'  see  the  order  and  arrangement  of  created 
beings  and  admire  the  immediate  result.  The  Angels 
alone  see  more.  The}'  know  the  means ;  the}-  com- 
prehend the  final  end. 

But  what  the  two  Elect  were  granted  power  to  con- 
template, what  they  were  able  to  bring  back  as  a  tcsti- 


192  Seraphita. 

mony  which  enlightened  their  minds  forever  after,  was 
the  proof  of  the  action  of  the  Worlds  and  of  Beings ; 
the  consciousness  of  the  effort  with  which  they  all 
converge  to  the  Result. 

They  heard  the  divers  parts  of  the  Infinite  forming 
one  living  melody ;  and  each  time  that  the  accord  made 
itself  felt  like  a  mighty  respiration,  the  Worlds  drawn 
by  the  concordant  movement  inclined  themselves  toward 
the  Supreme  Being  who,  from  His  impenetrable  centre, 
issued  all  things  and  recalled  all  things  to  Himself. 

This  ceaseless  alternation  of  voices  and  silence 
seemed  the  rhythm  of  the  sacred  hymn  which  resounds 
and  prolongs  its  sound  from  age  to  age. 

Wilfrid  and  Minna  were  enabled  to  understand  some 
of  the  mysterious  sayings  of  Him  who  had  appeared  on 
earth  in  the  form  which  to  each  of  them  had  rendered 
him  comprehensible,  —  to  one  Seraphitus,  to  the  other 
Seraphita,  —  for  they  saw  that  all  was  homogeneous  in 
the  sphere  where  he  now  was. 

Light  gave  birth  to  melody,  melody  gave  birth  to 
light ;  colors  were  light  and  melody ;  motion  was  a 
Number  endowed  with  Utterance  ;  all  things  were  at 
once  sonorous,  diaphanous,  and  mobile ;  so  that  each 
interpenetrated  the  other,  the  whole  vast  area  was 
unobstructed  and  the  Angels  could  surs^ey  it  from  the 
depths  of  the  Infinite. 

They  perceived  the  puerility  of  human  sciences,  of 
which  he  had  spoken  to  them. 

The  scene  was  to  them  a  prospect  without  horizou, 
a  boundless  space  into  which  an  all-consuming  desire 


Seraphita.  193 

prompted  them  to  plunge.  But,  fastened  to  their  mis- 
erable bodies,  they  had  the  desire  without  the  power  to 
fulfil  it. 

The  Seraph,  preparing  for  his  flight,  no  longer  looked 
towards  them  ;  he  had  nothing  now  in  common  with 
Earth. 

Upward  he  rose ;  the  shadow  of  his  luminous  pres- 
ence covered  the  two  Seers  like  a  merciful  veil,  enabling 
them  to  raise  their  eyes  and  see  him,  rising  in  his  glory 
to  Heaven  in  company  with  the  glad  Archangel. 

He  rose  as  the  sun  from  the  bosom  of  the  Eastern 
waves ;  but,  more  majestic  than  the  orb  and  vowed  to 
higher  destinies,  he  could  not  be  enchained  like  inferior 
creations  in  the  spiral  movement  of  the  worlds  ;  he  fol- 
lowed the  line  of  the  Infinite,  pointing  without  de\'iation 
to  the  One  Centre,  there  to  enter  his  eternal  life,  —  to 
receive  there,  in  his  faculties  and  in  his  essence,  the 
power  to  enjo}'  through  Love,  and  the  gift  of  com- 
prehending through  Wisdom. 

The  scene  which  suddenly  unveiled  itself  to  the  eyes 
of  the  two  Seers  crushed  them  with  a  sense  of  its  vast- 
ness ;  they  felt  like  atoms,  whose  minuteness  was  not 
to  be  compared  even  to  the  smallest  particle  which  the 
infinite  of  divisibility  enabled  the  mind  of  man  to  im- 
agine, brought  into  the  presence  of  the  infinite  of  Num- 
bers, which  God  alone  can  comprehend  as  He  alone  can 
comprehend  Himself. 

Sti-ength  and  Love !  what  heights,  what  depths  in 
those  two  entities,  whom  the  Seraph's  first  prayer 
placed   like   two   links,  as   it  were,  to   unite   the   im- 

13 


194  Seraphita. 

mensities  of  the  lower  worlds  with  the  immensit}-  of 
the  higher  universe ! 

They  comprehended  the  invisible  ties  by  which  the 
material  worlds  are  bound  to  the  spiritual  worlds. 
Remembering  the  subUme  efforts  of  human  genius, 
they  were  able  to  perceive  the  principle  of  all  melod}- 
in  the  songs  of  heaven  which  gave  sensations  of  color, 
of  perfume,  of  thought,  which  recalled  the  innumerable 
details  of  all  creations,  as  the  songs  of  earth  revive  the 
infinite  memories  of  love. 

Brought  by  the  exaltation  of  their  faculties  to  a  point 
that  cannot  be  described  in  anj'  language,  they  were 
able  to  cast  their  eyes  for  an  instant  into  the  Divine 
World.     There  all  was  Rejoicing. 

Myriads  of  angels  were  flocking  together,  without 
confusion ;  all  alike  yet  all  dissimilar,  simple  as  the 
flower  of  the  fields,  majestic  as  the  universe. 

Wilfrid  and  Minna  saw  neither  their  coming  nor 
their  going ;  they  appeared  suddenly  in  the  Infinite 
and  filled  it  with  their  presence,  as  the  stars  shine  in 
the  invisible  ether. 

The  scintillations  of  their  united  diadems  illumined 
space  like  the  fires  of  the  sky  at  dawn  upon  the  moun- 
tains. Waves  of  light  flowed  from  their  hair,  and  their 
movements  created  tremulous  undulations  in  space  like 
the  billows  of  a  phosphorescent  sea. 

The  two  Seers  beheld  the  Seraph  dimly  in  the  midst 
of  the  immortal  legions.  Suddenh',  as  though  all  the 
arrows  of  a  quiver  had  darted  together,  the  Spirits 
swept  away  with  a  breath  the  last  vestiges  of  the 


Seraphita.  I95 

human  form  ;  as  the  Seraph  rose  he  became  yet  purer ; 
soon  he  seemed  to  them  but  a  faint  outline  of  what  he 

had  been  at  the  moment  of  his  transfiguration, Unes 

of  fire  without  shadow. 

Higher  he  rose,  receiving  from  circle  to  circle  some 
new  gift,  while  the  sign  of  his  election  was  transmitted 
to  each  sphere  into  which,  more  and  more  purified,  he 
entered. 

No  voice  was  silent ;  the  hymn  diffused  and  multiplied 
itself  in  all  its  modulations  :  — 

"Hail  to  him  who  enters  living!  Come,  flower  of 
the  Worlds  !  diamond  from  the  fires  of  suffering  !  pearl 
without  spot,  desire  without  flesh,  new  link  of  earth  and 
heaven,  be  Light!  Conquering  spirit,  Queen  of  the 
world,  come  for  thy  crown !  Victor  of  earth,  receive 
th}'  diadem  !     Thou  art  of  us  1 " 

The  virtues  of  the  Seraph  shone  forth  in  all  their 
beaut}-. 

His  earliest  desire  for  heaven  re-appeared,  tender  as 
childhood.  The  deeds  of  his  life,  like  constellations, 
adorned  him  with  their  brightness.  His  acts  of  faith 
shone  like  the  Jacinth  of  heaven,  the  color  of  sidereal 
fires.  The  pearls  of  Charit}'  were  upon  him,  —  a  chap- 
let  of  garnered  tears  !  Love  divine  surrounded  him  with 
roses  ;  and  the  whiteness  of  his  Resignation  obliterated 
all  earthl}'  trace. 

Soon,  to  the  eyes  of  the  Seers,  he  was  but  a  point  of 
flame,  growing  brighter  and  brighter  as  its  motion  was 
lost  in  the  melodious  acclamations  which  welcomed  his 
entrance  into  heaven. 


196  Seraphita. 

The  celestial  accents  made  the  two  exiles  weep. 

Suddenly  a  silence  as  of  death  spread  like  a  mourn- 
ing veil  from  the  first  to  the  highest  sphere,  throwing 
Wilfrid  and  Minna  into  a  state  of  intolerable  ex- 
pectation. 

At  this  moment  the  Seraph  was  lost  to  sight  within 
the  Sanctuary,  receiving  there  the  gift  of  Life  Eternal. 

A  movement  of  adoration  made  by  the  Host  of  heaven 
filled  the  two  Seers  with  ecstasy  mingled  with  terror. 
Thej'  felt  that  all  were  prostrate  before  the  Throne,  in 
all  the  spheres,  in  the  Spheres  Divine,  in  the  Spiritual 
Spheres,  and  in  the  Worlds  of  Darkness. 

The  Angels  bent  the  knee  to  celebrate  the  Seraph's 
glor}' ;  the  Spirits  bent  the  knee  in  token  of  their  im- 
patience ;  others  bent  the  knee  in  the  dark  abysses, 
shuddering  with  awe. 

A  might}'  cr}'  of  joy  gushed  forth,  as  the  spring 
gushes  forth  to  its  millions  of  flowering  herbs  sparkling 
with  diamond  dew-drops  in  the  sunlight ;  at  that  instant 
the  Seraph  reappeared,  effulgent,  crying,  "  Eternal  ! 
Eternal !  Eternal !  " 

The  universe  heard  the  cry  and  understood  it ;  it 
penetrated  the  spheres  as  God  penetrates  them  ;  it  took 
possession  of  the  infinite ;  the  Seven  Divine  Worlds 
heard  the  Voice  and  answered. 

A  mighty  movement  was  perceptible,  as  though  whole 
planets,  purified,  were  rising  in  dazzling  light  to  be- 
come Eternal. 

Had  the  Seraph  obtained,  as  a  first  mission,  the  work 
of  calling  to  God  the  creations  permeated  by  His  Word? 


Seraphita.  I97 

But  already  the  sublime  Hallelujah  was  soundinf^ 
in  the  ear  of  the  desolate  ones  as  the  distant  undula- 
tions of  an  ended  melody.  Already  the  celestial  lights 
were  fading  like  the  gold  and  crimson  tints  of  a  setlino- 
sun.     Death  and  Impurity  recovered  their  prey. 

As  the  two  mortals  re-entered  the  prison  of  flesh, 
from  which  their  spirit  had  momentarily  been  delivered 
by  some  priceless  sleep,  they  felt  like  those  who  wake 
after  a  night  of  brilliant  dreams,  the  memory  of  which 
still  lingers  in  their  soul,  though  their  body  retains  no 
consciousness  of  them,  and  human  language  is  unable 
to  give  utterance  to  them. 

The  deep  darkness  of  the  sphere  that  was  now  about 
them  was  that  of  the  sun  of  the  visible  worlds. 

"  Let  us  descend  to  those  lower  regions,"  said  Wilfrid. 

"  Let  us  do  what  he  told  us  to  do,"  answered  Minna. 
"  We  have  seen  the  worlds  on  their  march  to  God  ;  we 
know  the  Path.     Our  diadem  of  stars  is  There." 

Floating  downward  through  the  abysses,  the}-  re- 
entered the  dust  of  the  lesser  worlds,  and  saw  the 
Earth,  like  a  subterranean  cavern,  suddenly  illuminated 
to  their  eyes  by  the  light  which  their  souls  brought 
with  them,  and  which  still  environed  them  in  a  cloud 
of  the  paling  harmonies  of  heaven.  The  sight  was  that 
which  of  old  struck  the  inner  ej'es  of  Seers  and  Prophets. 
Ministers  of  all  religions.  Preachers  of  all  pretended 
truths.  Kings  consecrated  by  Force  and  Terror,  War- 
riors and  Mighty  men  apportioning  the  Peoples  among 
them,  the  Learned  and  the  Rich  standing  above  the 
suffering,  noisy  crowd,  and  noisily  grinding  them  beneath 


198  SerapJiita. 

their  feet,  —  all  were  there,  accompanied  by  their  wives 
and  servants  ;  all  were  robed  in  stuffs  of  gold  and  silver 
and  azure  studded  with  pearls  and  gems  torn  from  the 
bowels  of  Earth,  stolen  from  the  depths  of  Ocean,  for 
which  Humanity  had  toiled  throughout  the  centuries, 
sweating  and  blaspheming.  But  these  treasures,  these 
splendors,  constructed  of  blood,  seemed  worn-out  rags  \Y 
to  the  eyes  of  the  two  Exiles.  "  What  do  you  there,  ' 
in  motionless  ranks?"  cried  Wilfrid.  They  answered 
not.  "What  do  you  there,  motionless?"  They  an- 
swered not.  Wilfrid  waved  his  hands  over  them,  cry- 
ing in  a  loud  voice,  "  What  do  you  there,  in  motionless 
ranks  ? "  All,  with  unanimous  action,  opened  their 
garments  and  gave  to  sight  their  withered  bodies,  eaten 
with  worms,  putrified,  crumbling  to  dust,  rotten  with 
horrible  diseases. 

' '  You  lead  the  nations  to  Death,"  Wilfrid  said  to 
them.  "You  have  depraved  the  earth,  perverted  the 
Word,  prostituted  justice.  After  devouring  the  grass 
of  the  fields  you  have  killed  the  lambs  of  the  fold.  Do 
you  think  yourself  justified  because  of  3'our  sores  ?  I 
will  warn  my  brethren  who  have  ears  to  hear  the  Voice, 
and  they  will  come  and  drink  of  the  spring  of  Living 
Waters  which  you  have  hidden." 

"  Let  us  save  our  strength  for  Pra3"er,"  said  Minna. 
"Wilfred,  thy  mission  is  not  that  of  the  Prophets  or 
the  Avenger  or  the  Messenger ;  we  are  still  on  the 
confines  of  the  lowest  sphere ;  let  us  endeavor  to  rise 
through  space  on  the  wings  of  Prayer." 

"  Thou  shalt  be  all  my  love  !  " 


Seraphita.  I99 

«'  Thou  Shalt  be  all  my  strength !  " 
"  We  have  seen  the  Mysteries;  we  are,  each  to  the 
other,  the   only  being   here   below   to  whom  Joy  and 
Sadness   are   comprehensible ;    let  us   pray,  therefore : 
we  know  the  Path,  let  us  walk  in  it." 

"  Give  me  thy  hand,"  said  the  Young  Girl,  "  if  we 
walk  together,  the  way  will  be  to  me  less  hard  and 
long." 

"  With  thee,  with  thee  alone,"  replied  the  Man,  "  can 
I  cross  the  awful  solitude  without  complaint." 

"  Together  we  will  go  to  Heaven,"  she  said. 

The  clouds  gathered  and  formed  a  darksome  dais. 
Suddenly  the  pair  found  themselves  kneeling  beside 
a  body  which  old  David  was  guarding  from  curious 
eyes,  resolved  to  bury  it  himself. 

Beyond  those  walls  the  first  summer  of  the  nineteenth 
century  shone  forth  in  all  its  glory.  The  two  lovers 
believed  they  heard  a  Voice  in  the  sun-rays.  They 
breathed  a  celestial  essence  from  the  new-born  flowers. 
Holding  each  other  by  the  hand,  they  said,  "  That 
illimitable  ocean  which  shines  below  us  is  but  an  imaare 
of  what  we  saw  above." 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  asked  Monsieur  Becker. 

"  To  God,"  they  answered.    "  Come  with  us,  father." 


THE  ALKAHEST; 

OR, 

THE    HOUSE    OF    CLAES. 


"  iLuJa^'' 


THE    ALKAHEST: 


OR, 


THE    HOUSE    OF    CLAES. 


I. 


There  is  a  house  at  Douai  in  the  rue  de  Paris, 
whose  aspect,  interior  arrangements,  and  details  have 
preserved,  to  a  greater  degree  than  those  of  other  domi- 
ciles, the  characteristics  of  the  old  Flemish  buildings, 
so  naively  adapted  to  the  patriarchal  manners  and 
customs  of  that  excellent  land.  Before  describing  this 
house  it  may  be  well,  in  the  interest  of  other  writers,  to 
explain  the  necessity  for  such  didactic  preliminaries,  — 
since  they  have  roused  a  protest  from  certain  ignorant 
and  voracious  readers  who  want  emotions  without 
undergoing  the  generating  process,  the  flower  without 
the  seed,  the  child  without  gestation.  Is  Art  supposed  ^ 
to  have  higher  powers  than  Nature  ? 

The  events  of  human  existence,  whether  public  or  • 
private,  are  so  closely  allied  to  architecture  that  the 


2  Tlie  Alkahest. 

majority  of  observers  can  reconstruct  nations  and  in- 
dividuals, in  their  habits  and  ways  of  life,  from  the 
remains  of  public  monuments  or  the  relics  of  a  home. 
Archeeology  is  to  social  nature  what  comparative  anat- 
omy is  to  organized  nature.  A  mosaic  tells  the  tale  of 
a  society,  as  the  skeleton  of  an  ichthyosaurus  opens 
up  a  creative  epoch.  All  things  are  linked  together, 
and  all  are  therefore  deducible.  Causes  suggest  effects, 
effects  lead  back  to  causes.  Science  resuscitates  even 
the  warts  of  the  past  ages. 

Hence  the  keen  interest  inspired  by  an  architectural 
description,  provided  the  imagination  of  the  writer  does 
not  distort  essential  facts.  The  mind  is  enabled  by  rigid 
deduction  to  link  it  with  the  past ;  and  to  man,  the 
past  is  singularly  like  the  future ;  tell  him  what  has 
been,  and  you  seldom  fail  to  show  him  what  will  be. 
It  is  rare  indeed  that  the  picture  of  a  locality  where 
lives  are  lived  does  not  recall  to  some  their  dawning 
hopes,  to  others  their  wasted  faith.  The  comparison 
between  a  present  which  disappoints  man's  secret 
wishes  and  a  future  which  ma}^  realize  them,  is  an  in- 
exhaustible source  of  sadness  or  of  placid  content. 

Thus,  it  is  almost  impossible  not  to  feel  a  certain 
tender  sensibility  over  a  picture  of  Flemish  life,  if  the  ac- 
cessories are  clearly  given.  Why  so?  Perhaps,  among 
other  forms  of  existence,  it  offers  the  best  conclusion 
to  man's  uncertainties.     It  has  its  social  festivities,  its 


The  Alkahest.  J 

famil}'  ties,  and  the  easy  aflauence  which  proves  the 
stability  of  its  comfortable  well-being ;  it  does  not  lack 
repose  amounting  almost  to  beatitude;  but,  above  all, 
it  expresses  the  calm  monotony  of  a  frankly  sensuous 
happiness,  where  enjoyment  stifles  desire  by  anticipat- 
ing it.  "Whatever  value  a  passionate  soul  may  attach 
to  the  tumultuous  life  of  feeling,  it  never  sees  without 
emotion  the  symbols  of  this  Flemish  nature,  where  the 
throbbings  of  the  heart  are  so  well  regulated  that 
superficial  minds  deny  the  heart's  existence.  The 
crowd  prefers  the  abnormal  force  which  overflows  to 
that  which  moves  with  steady  persistence.  The  world 
has  neither  time  nor  patience  to  realize  the  immense 
power  concealed  beneath  an  appearance  of  uniformity. 
Therefore,  to  impress  this  multitude  caiTied  away  on 
the  current  of  existence,  passion,  like  a  gi-eat  artist, 
is  compelled  to  go  be^'ond  the  mark,  to  exaggerate,  as 
did  Michael  Angelo,  Bianca  Capello,  Mademoiselle  de 
la  Valliere,  Beethoven,  and  Paganini.  Far-seeing  minds 
alone  disapprove  such  excess,  and  respect  onlv  the  en- 
ergy represented  by  a  finished  execution  whose  perfect 
quiet  charms  superior  men.  The  life  of  this  essentially 
thrift}^  people  amply  fulfils  the  conditions  of  happiness 
which  the  masses  desire  as  the  lot  of  the  average 
citizen. 

A  refined  materialism  is  stamped  on  all  the  habits  of 
Flemish   life.     English  comfort  is   harsh  in  tone  and 


4  The  Alkahest. 

arid  in  color ;  whereas  the  old-fashioned  Flemish  inte- 
riors rejoice  the  eye  with  their  mellow  tints,  and  the 
feelings  with  their  genuine  heartiness.  There,  work  im- 
plies no  weariness,  and  the  pipe  is  a  happy  adaptation 
of  Neapolitan  far-niente.  Thence  comes  the  peaceful 
sentiment  in  Art  (its  most  essential  condition),  pa- 
tience, and  the  element  which  renders  its  creations 
durable,  namely,  conscience.  Indeed,  the  Flemish  char- 
acter lies  in  the  two  words,  patience  and  conscience : 
words  which  seem  at  first  to  exclude  the  richness  of 
poetic  light  and  shade,  and  to  make  the  manners  and 
customs  of  the  couutr}-  as  flat  as  its  vast  plains,  as 
cold  as  its  foggy  skies.  And  j'et  it  is  not  so.  Civili- 
zation has  brought  her  power  to  bear,  and  has  modified 
all  things,  even  the  effects  of  climate.  If  we  observe 
attentively  the  productions  of  various  parts  of  the 
globe,  we  are  surprised  to  find  that  the  prevailing  tints 
from  the  temperate  zones  are  gra}'  or  fawn,  while  the 
more  brilliant  colors  belong  to  the  products  of  the 
hotter  climates.  The  manners  and  customs  of  a  coun- 
try must  naturally  conform  to  this  law  of  nature. 

Flanders,  which  in  former  times  was  essentially 
dun-colored  and  monotonous  in  tint,  learned  the  means 
of  irradiating  its  smoky  atmosphere  through  its  politi- 
cal vicissitudes,  which  brought  it  under  the  successive 
dominion  of  Burgund}',  Spain,  and  France,  and  threw 
it  into  fraternal  relations  with  Germany  and  HoUand. 


The  Alkahest.  5 

From  Spain  it  acquired  the  luxury  of  scarlet  dj-es  and 
shimmering  satins,  tapestries  of  vigorous  design,  plumes, 
mandolins,  and  courtly  bearing.  In  exchange  for  its 
linen  and  its  laces,  it  brought  from  Venice  that  fairy 
glass-ware  in  which  wine  sparkles  and  seems  the  mel- 
lower. From  Austria  it  learned  the  ponderous  di- 
plomacy which,  to  use  a  popular  saying,  takes  three 
steps  backward  to  one  forward ;  while  its  trade  with 
India  poured  into  it  the  grotesque  designs  of  China  and 
the  marvels  of  Japan. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  its  patience  in  gathering  such 
treasures,  its  tenacity  in  parting  with  no  possession  once 
gained,  its  endurance  of  all  things,  Flanders  was  con- 
sidered nothing  more  than  the  general  storehouse  of 
Europe,  until  the  day  when  the  discovery  of  tobacco 
brought  into  one  smoky  outline  the  scattered  features 
of  its  national  physiognomy.  Thenceforth,  and  not- 
withstanding the  parceUing  out  of  their  territory,  the 
Flemings  became  a  people  homogeneous  through  their 
pipes  and  beer.^ 

After  assimilating,  by  constant  sober  regulation  of 
conduct,  the  products  and  the  ideas  of  its  masters  and 
its  neighbors,  this  country  of  Flanders,  by  nature  so 

1  Flanders  was  parcelled  into  three  divisions  ;  of  which  East- 
ern Flanders,  capital  Ghent,  and  Western  Flanders,  capital  Bruges, 
are  two  provinces  of  Belgium.  French  Flanders,  capital  Lille,  is 
the  Departement  dii  Nord  of  France.  Douai,  about  twenty  mile* 
Irom  Lille,  is  the  chief  town  of  the  arrondissement  du  Nord. 


6  The  Alkahest. 

tame  and  devoid  of  poetry,  worked  out  for  itself  an 
original  existence,  with  characteristic  manners  and  cus- 
toms which  bear  no  signs  of  servile  imitation.  Art 
stripped  off  its  ideality  and  produced  form  alone.  We 
may  seek  in  vain  for  plastic  grace,  the  swing  of  comedy, 
dramatic  action,  musical  genius,  or  the  bold  flight  of 
ode  and  epic.  On  the  other  hand,  the  people  are  fer- 
tile in  discoveries,  and  trained  to  scientific  discussions 
which  demand  time  and  the  midnight  oil.  All  things 
bear  the  ear-mark  of  temporal  enjoyment.  There  men 
look  exclusively  to  the  thing  that  is :  their  thoughts  are 
so  scrupulously  bent  on  supplying  the  wants  of  this  life 
that  they  have  never  risen,  in  any  direction,  above  the 
level  of  this  present  earth.  The  sole  idea  they  have 
ever  conceived  of  the  future  is  that  of  a  thrift^^,  prosaic 
statecraft :  their  revolutionaiy  vigor  came  from  a  do- 
mestic desire  to  live  as  they  liked,  with  their  elbows 
on  the  table,  and  to  take  their  ease  under  the  projecting 
roofs  of  their  own  porches. 

The  consciousness  of  well-being  and  the  spirit  of  inde- 
pendence which  comes  of  prosperity  begot  in  Flanders, 
sooner  than  elsewhere,  that  craving  for  liberty  wUich, 
later,  permeated  all  Europe.  Thus  the  compactness  of 
their  ideas,  and  the  tenacity  which  education  grafted  on 
their  nature  made  the  Flemish  people  a  formidable 
body  of  men  in  the  defence  of  their  rights.  Among 
them  nothing  is  half-done,  —  neither  houses,  furniture, 


The  Alkahest.  7 

dikes,  husbandry,  nor  revolutions  ;  and  they  hold  a 
monopoh'  of  all  that  they  undertake.  The  mauufacturo 
of  linen,  and  that  of  lace,  a  work  of  patient  agriculture 
and  still  more  patient  industry,  are  hereditary  like  tht-ir 
family  fortunes.  If  we  were  asked  to  show  in  human 
form  the  purest  specimen  of  solid  stabiUty,  we  could  do 
no  better  than  point  to  a  portrait  of  some  old  burgo- 
master, capable,  as  was  proved  again  and  again,  of 
djiug  in  a  commonplace  way,  and  without  the  incite- 
ments of  glory,  for  the  welfare  of  his  Free-town. 

Yet  we  shall  find  a  tender  and  poetic  side  to  this 
patriarchal  Hfe,  which  will  come  naturally  to  the  surfiice 
in  the  description  of  an  ancient  house  which,  at  the 
period  when  this  history  begins,  was  one  of  the  last 
in  Douai  to  preserve  the  old-time  characteristics  of 
Flemish  life. 

Of  all  the  towns  in  the  Departement  du  Nord,  Douai 
is,  alas,  the  most  modernized :  there  the  innovating 
spirit  has  made  the  greatest  strides,  and  the  love  of 
social  progress  is  the  most  diffused.  There  the  old 
buildings  are  daily  disappearing,  and  the  manners  and 
customs  of  a  venerable  past  are  being  rapidl}'  obhterated. 
Parisian  ideas  and  fashions  and  modes  of  life  now  rule 
the  day,  and  soon  nothing  will  be  left  of  that  ancient 
Flemish  life  but  the  warmth  of  its  hospitality,  its  tra- 
ditional Spanish  courtesj',  and  the  wealth  and  cleanli- 
ness of  Holland.    Mansions  of  white  stone  are  replacing 


8  The  Alkahest. 

the  old  brick  buildings,  and  the  cosy  comfort  of  Bata- 
vian  interiors  is  fast  yielding  before  the  capriciou* 
elegance  of  Parisian  novelties. 

The  house  in  which  the  events  of  this  history  oc» 
curred  stands  at  about  the  middle  of  the  rue  de  Paris, 
and  has  been  known  at  Douai  for  more  than  two  cen- 
turies as  the  House  of  Claes.  The  Van  Claes  were 
formerly  one  of  the  great  families  of  craftsmen  to 
whom,  in  various  lines  of  production,  the  Netherlands 
owed  a  commercial  supremacy'  which  it  has  never  lost. 
For  a  long  period  of  time  the  Claes  lived  at  Ghent,  and 
were,  from  generation  to  generation,  the  S3^ndics  of  the 
powerful  Guild  of  "Weavers.  "When  the  great  city  re- 
volted against  Charles  V.,  who  tried  to  suppress  its 
privileges,  the  head  of  the  Claes  family  was  so  deeply 
compromised  in  the  rebellion  that,  foreseeing  a  catas- 
trophe and  bound  to  share  the  fate  of  his  associates,  he 
secretly  sent  wife,  children,  and  property  to  France 
before  the  Emperor  invested  the  town.  The  s^'ndic's 
forebodings  were  justified.  Together  with  other  burgh- 
ers who  were  excluded  from  the  capitulation,  he  was 
hanged  as  a  rebel,  though  he  was,  in  reality,  the 
defender  of  the  liberties  of  Ghent. 

The  death  of  Claes  and  his  associates  bore  fruit. 
Their  needless  execution  cost  the  King  of  Spain  the 
greater  part  of  his  possessions  in  the  Netherlands.  Of 
all  the  seed  sown  in  the  earth,  the  blood  of  martyrs 


The  Alkahest.  9 

gives  the  quickest  harvest.  When  Philip  the  Second, 
who  punished  revolt  through  two  generations,  stretched 
his  iron  sceptre  over  Douai,  the  Claes  preserved  their 
great  wealth  by  allying  themselves  in  marriage  with  the 
very  noble  family  of  Molina,  whose  elder  branch,  then 
poor,  thus  became  rich  enough  to  buy  the  county  of 
Nourho  which  they  had  long  held  titularly  in  the  king- 
dom of  Leon. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century,  after 
vicissitudes  which  are  of  no  interest  to  our  present 
purpose,  the  family  of  Claes  was  represented  at  Douai 
in  the  person  of  Monsieur  Balthazar  Claes-Molina, 
Comte  de  Nourho,  who  preferred  to  be  called  simply 
Balthazar  Claes.  Of  the  immense  fortune  amassed  by 
his  ancestors,  who  had  kept  in  motion  over  a  thousand 
looms,  there  remained  to  him  some  fifteen  thousand 
francs  a  year  from  landed  property  in  the  arrondisse- 
ment  of  Douai,  and  the  house  in  the  rue  de  Paris,  whose 
furniture  in  itself  was  a  fortune.  As  to  the  family  pos- 
sessions in  Leon,  they  had  been  in  litigation  between 
the  Molinas  of  Douai  and  the  branch  of  the  family 
which  remained  in  Spain.  The  Molinas  of  Loon 
won  the  domain  and  assumed  the  title  of  Comtes  de 
Nourho,  though  the  Claes  alone  had  a  legal  right  to  it. 
But  the  pride  of  a  Belgian  burgher  was  superior  to  the 
haughty  arrogance  of  Castile:  after  the  civil  rights 
were  instituted,  Balthazar  Claes  cast  aside  the  ragged 


10  The  Alkahest. 

robes  of  his  Spanish  nobility  for  his  more  illustrioua 
descent  from  the  Ghent  martyr. 

The  patriotic  sentiment  was  so  strongly  developed 
in  the  famihes  exiled  under  Charles  V.  that,  to  the 
very  close  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  Claes  remained 
faithful  to  the  manners  and  customs  and  traditions  of 
their  ancestors.  They  married  into  none  but  the  purest 
burgher  families,  and  required  a  certain  number  of 
aldermen  and  burgomasters  in  the  pedigree  of  every 
bride-elect  before  admitting  her  to  the  family.  They 
sought  their  wives  in  Bruges  or  Ghent,  in  Liege  or  in 
Holland ;  so  that  the  time-honored  domestic  customs 
might  be  perpetuated  around  their  hearthstones.  This 
social  group  became  more  and  more  restricted,  until, 
at  the  close  of  the  last  centurj',  it  mustered  only  some 
seven  or  eight  families  of  the  parliamentary  nobility, 
whose  manners  and  flowing  robes  of  office  and  magiste- 
rial gravity  (partly  Spanish)  harmonized  well  with  the 
habits  of  their  life. 

The  inhabitants  of  Douai  held  the  family  in  a  reli- 
gious esteem  that  was  well-nigh  superstition.  The 
sturdy  honest}^  the  untainted  loyalty  of  the  Claes,  their 
unfailing  decorum  of  manners  and  conduct,  made  them 
the  objects  of  a  reverence  which  found  expression  in 
the  name,  —  the  House  of  Claes.  The  whole  spirit  of 
ancient  Flanders  breathed  in  that  mansion,  which  af- 
forded to  the  lovers  of  burgher  antiquities  a  tj'pe  of  the 


The  AUiahest.  W 

modest  houses   which   the  wealthy   craftsmen   of  the 
Middle  Ages  constructed  for  their  homes. 

The  chief  ornament  of  the  fatjade  was  an  oakcu  door, 
in  two  sections,  studded  with  nails  driven  in  the  pat- 
tern of  a  quincunx,  in  the  centre  of  which  the  Claes 
pride  had  carved  a  pair  of  shuttles.  The  recess  of  the 
doorway,  which  was  built  of  freestone,  was  topped  by 
a  pointed  arch  bearing  a  little  shrine  surmounted  by  a 
cross,  in  which  was  a  statuette  of  Sainte-Genevieve  ply- 
ing her  distaff.  Though  time  had  left  its  mark  upon 
the  delicate  workmanship  of  portal  and  shrine,  the  ex- 
treme care  taken  of  it  by  the  servants  of  the  house 
allowed  the  passers-by  to  note  all  its  details. 

The  casing  of  the  door,  formed  by  fluted  pilasters, 
•was  dark  gray  in  color,  and  so  highly  polished  that  it 
shone  as  if  varnished.  On  either  side  of  the  doorwav, 
on  the  gi'ound-floor,  were  two  windows,  which  resembled 
all  the  other  windows  of  the  house.  The  casing  of 
white  stone  ended  below  the  sill  in  arichl}'  carved  shell, 
and  rose  above  the  window  in  an  arch,  supported  at  its 
apex  by  the  head-piece  of  a  cross,  which  divided  the 
glass  sashes  in  four  unequal  parts  ;  for  the  transversal 
bar,  placed  at  the  height  of  that  in  a  Latin  cross,  made 
the  lower  sashes  of  the  window  nearly  double  the  height 
of  the  upper,  the  latter  rounding  at  the  sides  into  the 
arch.  The  coping  of  the  arch  was  ornamented  with 
three  rows  of  brick,  placed  one  above  the  other,  the 


12  TJie  Alkahest. 

bricks  alternately  projecting  or  retreating  to  the  depth 
of  an  inch,  giving  the  effect  of  a  Greek  moulding.  The 
glass  panes,  which  were  small  and  diamond-shaped, 
were  set  in  very  slender  leading,  painted  red.  The 
walls  of  the  house,  of  brick  pointed  with  white  mortar, 
were  braced  at  regular  distances,  and  at  the  angles  of 
the  house,  b}''  stone  courses. 

The  first  floor  was  pierced  by  five  windows,  the  sec- 
ond by  three,  while  the  attic  had  only  one  large  circular 
opening  in  five  divisions,  surrounded  by  a  freestone 
moulding  and  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  triangular  ped- 
iment defined  by  the  gable-roof,  like  the  rose-window  of 
a  cathedral.  At  the  peak  was  a  vane  in  the  shape  of  a 
weaver's  shuttle  threaded  with  flax.  Both  sides  of  the 
large  triangular  pediment  which  formed  the  wall  of  the 
gable  were  dentelled  squarely  into  something  like  steps, 
as  low  down  as  the  string-course  of  the  upper  floor, 
where  the  rain  from  the  roof  fell  to  right  and  left  of  the 
house  through  the  jaws  of  a  fantastic  gargoyle.  A 
freestone  foundation  projected  like  a  step  at  the  base 
of  the  house ;  and  on  either  side  of  the  entrance,  be- 
tween the  two  windows,  was  a  trap-door,  clamped  by 
heavy  iron  bands,  through  which  the  cellars  were 
entered,  —  a  last  vestige  of  ancient  usages. 

From  the  time  the  house  was  built,  this  facade  had 
been  carefull}'  cleaned  twice  a  year.  If  a  little  mortar 
fell  from  between  the  bricks,  the  crack  was  instantly 


The  Alkahest.  18 

filled  up.  The  sashes,  the  sills,  the  copings,  were 
dusted  oftener  than  the  most  precious  sculptures  in  the 
Lou\Te.  The  front  of  the  house  bore  no  signs  of  decay  ; 
notwithstanding  the  deepened  color  which  age  had  given 
to  the  bricks,  it  was  as  well  preserved  as  a  choice  old 
picture,  or  some  rare  book  cherished  by  an  amateur, 
which  would  be  ever  new  were  it  not  for  the  bUstering 
of  our  climate  and  the  eflEect  of  gases,  whose  pernicious 
breath  threatens  our  own  health. 

The  cloudy  skies  and  humid  atmosphere  of  Flanders, 
and  the  shadows  produced  by  the  narrowness  of  the 
street,  sometimes  diminished  the  brilliancy  which  the 
old  house  derived  from  its  cleanliness;  moreover, 
the  very  care  bestowed  upon  it  made  it  rather  sad  and 
chilling  to  the  eye.  A  poet  might  have  wished  some 
leafage  about  the  shrine,  a  little  moss  in  the  crevices  of 
the  freestone,  a  break  in  the  even  courses  of  the  brick ; 
he  would  have  longed  for  the  swaUow  to  build  her  nest 
in  the  red  coping  that  roofed  the  arches  of  the  windows. 
The  precise  and  immaculate  air  of  this  facade,  a  little 
worn  by  perpetual  rubbing,  gave  the  house  a  tone  of 
severe  propriety  and  estimable  decency  which  would 
have  driven  a  romanticist  out  of  the  neighborhood,  had 
he  happened  to  take  lodgings  over  the  way. 

When  a  visitor  had  pulled  the  braided  iron  wire  bell- 
cord  which  hung  fi-om  the  top  of  the  pilaster  of  the 
doorway,  and  the  servant- woman,  coming  from  within, 


14  The  Alkahest. 

had  admitted  him  through  the  side  of  the  double-door 
in  which  was  a  small  grated  loop-hole,  that  half  of  the 
door  escaped  from  her  hand  and  swung  back  by  its  own 
weight  with  a  solemn,  ponderous  sound  that  echoed 
along  the  roof  of  a  wide  paved  archway  and  through 
the  depths  of  the  house,  as  though  the  door  had  been  of 
iron.  This  archwa}^  painted  to  resemble  marble,  al- 
ways clean  and  daily  sprinkled  with  fresh  sand,  led  into 
a  large  court-yard  paved  with  smooth  square  stones  of 
a  greenish  color.  On  the  left  were  the  linen-rooms, 
kitchens,  and  servants'  hall ;  to  the  right,  the  wood- 
house,  coal-house,  and  offices,  whose  doors,  walls,  and 
windows  were  decorated  with  designs  kept  exquisitely 
clean.  The  daylight,  threading  its  waj'  between  four 
red  walls  chequered  with  white  lines,  caught  ros}'  tints 
and  reflections  which  gave  a  mysterious  gi*ace  and  fani 
tastic  appearance  to  faces,  and  even  to  trifling  details. 

A  second  house,  exactly  like  the  building  on  the 
street,  and  called  in  Flanders  the  "  back-quarter,"  stood 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  court-yard,  and  was  used  ex- 
clusively as  the  family  dwelling.  The  first  room  on  the 
ground-floor  was  a  parlor,  lighted  by  two  windows  on 
the  court-3'ard,  and  two  more  looking  out  upon  a  gar- 
den which  was  of  the  same  size  as  the  house.  Two 
glass  doors,  placed  exactly  opposite  to  each  other,  led 
at  one  end  of  the  room  to  the  garden,  at  the  other 
to  the  court-yard,  and  were  in  line  with  the  archway 


The  Alkahest.  15 

and  the  street  door;  so  that  a  visitor  cntcrinfr  the 
latter  could  see  through  to  the  greenery  which  draped 
the  lower  end  of  the  garden.  The  front  building,  which 
was  reserved  for  receptions  and  the  lodging-rooms  of 
guests,  held  many  objects  of  art  and  accumulated 
wealth,  but  none  of  them  equalled  in  the  eyes  of  a 
Claes,  nor  indeed  in  the  judgment  of  a  connoisseur, 
the  treasures  contained  in  the  parlor,  where  for  over 
two  centuries  the  family  life  had  glided  on. 

The  Claes  who  died  for  the  liberties  of  Ghent,  and 
who  might  in  these  days  be  thought  a  mere  ordinary 
craftsman  if  the  historian  omitted  to  say  that  he  pos- 
sessed over  fort}'  thousand  silver  marks,  obtained  by 
the  manufacture  of  sail-cloth  for  the  all-powerful  Vene- 
tian navy,  —  this  Claes  had  a  friend  in  the  famous 
sculptor  in  wood,  Van  Huysum  of  Bruges.  The  artist 
had  dipped  many  a  time  into  the  purse  of  the  rich 
craftsman.  Some  time  before  the  rebellion  of  the  men 
of  Ghent,  Van  Huysum,  grown  rich  himself,  had  secretly 
carved  for  his  friend  a  wall-decoration  in  ebonj-,  repre- 
senting the  chief  scenes  in  the  life  of  Van  Artevelde,  — 
that  brewer  of  Ghent  who,  for  a  brief  hour,  was  King 
of  Flanders.  This  wall- covering,  of  which  there  were 
no  less  than  sixt}'  panels,  contained  about  fourteen 
hundred  principal  figures,  and  was  held  to  be  Van 
fluy sum's  masterpiece.  The  officer  appointed  to  guard 
the  burghers  whom  Charles  V.  determined  to  hang  when 


16  The  Alkahest. 

he  re-entered  his  native  town,  proposed,  it  is  said,  to 
Van  Claes  to  let  him  escape  if  he  would  give  him  Van 
Huysum's  great  work ;  but  the  weaver  had  already- 
despatched  it  to  Douai. 

The  parlor,  whose  walls  were  entirely  panelled  with 
this  carving,  which  Van  Huysum,  out  of  regard  for  the 
martyr's  memory,  came  to  Douai  to  frame  in  wood 
painted  in  lapis-lazuli  with  threads  of  gold,  is  therefore 
the  most  complete  work  of  this  master,  whose  least  carv- 
ings now  sell  for  nearly  their  weight  in  gold.  Hanging 
over  the  fire-place,  Van  Claes  the  martyr,  painted  by 
Titian  in  his  robes  as  president  of  the  Court  of  Parchons, 
still  seemed  the  head  of  the  family,  who  venerated  him 
as  their  greatest  man.  The  chimnej'-piece,  originally 
in  stone  with  a  very  high  mantle-shelf,  had  been  made 
over  in  marble  during  the  last  century  ;  on  it  now  stood 
an  old  clock  and  two  candlesticks  with  five  twisted 
branches,  in  bad  taste,  but  of  solid  silver.  The  four 
windows  were  draped  by  wide  curtains  of  red  damask 
with  a  flowered  black  design,  lined  with  white  silk  ;  the 
furniture,  covered  with  the  same  material,  had  been  ren- 
ovated in  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.  The  floor,  evidently 
modern,  was  laid  in  large  squares  of  white  wood  bor- 
dered with  strips  of  oak.  The  ceiling,  formed  of  many 
oval  panels,  in  each  of  which  Van  Huysum  had  carved 
a  grotesque  mask,  had  been  respected  and  allowed  to 
keep  the  brown  tones  of  the  native  Dutch  oak. 


The  Alkahest.  17 

In  the  four  corners  of  this  parlor  were  truncated 
columns,  supporting  candelabra  exactly  like  those  on 
the  mantle-shelf;  and  a  round  table  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  room.  Along  the  walls  card-tables  were  sym- 
metricall}'  placed.  On  two  gilded  consoles  with  marble 
slabs  there  stood,  at  the  period  when  this  history  be 
gins,  two  glass  globes  filled  with  water,  in  which,  abov. 
a  bed  of  sand  and  shells,  red  and  gold  and  silver  fisi 
were  swimming  about.  The  room  was  both  brillian'i 
and  sombre.  The  ceiling  necessarily  absorbed  the  light 
and  reflected  none.  Although  on  the  garden  side  all  was 
bright  and  glowing,  and  the  sunshine  danced  upon  the 
ebony  carvings,  the  windows  on  the  court-yard  admitted 
so  little  light  that  the  gold  threads  in  the  lapis-lazuli 
scarcely  glittered  on  the  opposite  wall.  This  parlor, 
which  could  be  gorgeous  on  a  fine  day,  was  usually, 
under  the  Flemish  skies,  filled  with  soft  shadows  and 
melancholy  russet  tones,  like  those  shed  by  the  sun  on 
the  tree-tops  of  the  forests  in  autumn. 

Tb  is  unnecessary  to  continue  this  description  of  the 
House  of  Claes,  in  other  parts  of  which  many  scenes 
of  this  history  will  occur :  at  present,  it  is  enough  to 
make  known  its  general  arrangement. 


18  The  Alkahest. 


XL 


Towards  the  end  of  August,  1812,  on  a  Sunday 
evening  after  vespers,  a  woman  was  sitting  in  a  deep 
armchair  placed  before  one  of  the  windows  looking  out 
upon  the  garden.  The  sun's  rays  fell  obliquely  upon 
the  house  and  athwart  the  parlor,  breaking  into  fan- 
tastic lights  on  the  carved  panellings  of  the  wall,  and 
wrapping  the  woman  in  a  crimson  halo  projected  through 
the  damask  curtains  which  draped  the  window.  Even 
an  ordinary  painter,  had  he  sketched  this  woman  at  this^ 
particular  moment,  would  assuredly  have  produced  a 
striking  picture  of  a  head  that  was  full  of  pain  and  mel- 
ancholy. The  attitude  of  the  body,  and  that  of  the  feet 
stretched  out  befoi-e  her,  showed  the  prostration  of  one 
who  loses  consciousness  of  physical  being  in  the  con- 
centration of  powers  absorbed  in  a  fixed  idea :  she  was 
following  its  gleams  in  the  far  future,  just  as  sometimes 
on  the  shores  of  the  sea,  we  gaze  at  a  ray  of  sunlight 
which  pierces  the  clouds  and  draws  a  luminous  line 
to  the  horizon. 

The  hands  of  this  woman  hung  nerveless  outside  the 
arms  of  her  chair,  and  her  head,  as  if  too  heavy  to  hold 


The  Alkahest.  \g 

«p,  lay  back  upon  its  cushions.  A  dress  of  white  cam- 
bric, very  full  and  flowing,  hindered  any  judgment  as  to 
the  proportions  of  her  figure,  and  the  bust  was  con- 
cealed by  the  folds  of  a  scarf  crossed  on  the  bosom  and 
negligently  knotted.  If  the  light  had  not  thrown  into 
relief  her  face,  which  she  seemed  to  show  in  prefer- 
ence to  the  rest  of  her  person,  it  would  still  have  been 
impossible  to  escape  riveting  the  attention  exclusively 
upon  it.  Its  expression  of  stupefaction,  which  was  cold 
and  rigid  despite  hot  tears  that  were  rolling  from  her 
eyes,  would  have  struck  the  most  thoughtless  mind. 
Nothing  is  more  terrible  to  behold  than  excessive  grief 
that  is  rarely  allowed  to  break  forth,  of  which  traces 
were  left  on  this  woman's  face  like  lava  congealed 
about  a  crater.  She  might  have  been  a  dying  mother 
compelled  to  leave  her  children  in  abj'smal  depths  of 
wretchedness,  unable  to  bequeath  them  to  an}'  human 
protector. 

The  countenance  of  this  lady,  then  about  fort}'  years 
of  age  and  not  nearly  so  far  from  handsome  as  she  had 
been  in  her  3'outh,  bore  none  of  the  characteristics  of  a 
Flemish  woman.  Her  thick  black  hair  fell  in  heavy 
curls  upon  her  shoulders  and  about  her  cheeks.  The 
forehead,  very  prominent,  and  narrow  at  the  temples, 
was  yellow  in  tint,  but  beneath  it  sparkled  two  black 
eyes  that  were  capable  of  emitting  flames.  Her  face, 
altogether  Spanish,  dark  skinned,  with  little  color  and 


20  The  Alkahest. 

pitted  by  the  small-pox,  attracted  the  eye  by  the  beauty 
of  its  oval,  whose  outline,  though  slightly  impaired  by 
time,  preserved  a  finished  elegance  and  dignity,  and 
regained  at  times  its  full  perfection  when  some  effort  of 
the  soul  restored  its  pristine  purity.  The  most  notice- 
able feature  in  this  strong  face  was  the  nose,  aquUine 
as  the  beak  of  an  eagle,  and  so  sharply  curved  at  the 
middle  as  to  give  the  idea  of  an  interior  malformation ; 
yet  there  was  an  air  of  indescribable  delicacy  about  it, 
and  the  partition  between  the  nostrils  was  so  thin  that 
a  rosy  light  shone  through  it.  Though  the  lips,  which 
were  large  and  curved,  betrayed  the  pride  of  noble 
birth,  their  expression  was  one  of  kindliness  and  natu- 
ral courtesy. 

The  beauty  of  this  vigorous  yet  feminine  face  might 
indeed  be  questioned,  but  the  face  itself  commanded 
attention.  Short,  deformed,  and  lame,  this  woman  re- 
mained all  the  longer  unmarried  because  the  world  ob- 
stinately refused  to  credit  her  with  gifts  of  mind. 
Yet  there  were  men  who  were  deeply  stirred  by  the  pas- 
sionate ardor  of  that  face  and  its  tokens  of  ineffable 
tenderness,  and  who  remained  under  a  charm  that  was 
seemingly  irreconcilable  with  such  personal  defects. 

She  was  very  like  her  grandfather,  the  Duke  of  Casa- 
Real,  a  grandee  of  Spain.  At  this  moment,  when  we 
first  see  her,  the  charm  which  in  earlier  days  despoti- 
cally grasped  the  soul  of  poets  and  lovers  of  poesy  now 


The  Alkahest.  21 

emanated  from  that  head  with  greater  vigor  than  at  any 
former  period  of  her  life,  spending  itseh",  as  it  were, 
upon  the  void,  and  expressing  a  nature  of  all-powerful 
fascination  over  men,  though  it  was  at  the  same  time 
powerless  over  destiny. 

When  her  eyes  turned  from  the  glass  globes,  where 
they  were  gaziug  at  the  fish  they  saw  not,  she  raised 
them  with  a  despairing  action,  as  if  to  invoke  the  skies. 
Her  sufferings  seemed  of  a  kind  that  are  told  to  God 
alone.  The  silence  was  unbroken  save  for  the  chirp 
of  crickets  and  the  shrill  whirr  of  a  few  locusts,  coming 
from  the  little  garden  then  hotter  than  an  oven,  and  the 
dull  sound  of  silver  and  plates,  and  the  moving  of  chairs 
in  the  adjoining  room,  where  a  servant  was  preparing 
to  serve  the  dinner. 

At  this  moment,  the  distressed  woman  roused  herself 
from  her  absti-action  and  listened  attentively  ;  she  took 
her  handkerchief,  wiped  away  her  tears,  attempted  to 
smile,  and  so  resolutely  effaced  the  expression  of  pain 
that  was  stamped  on  ever}-  feature  that  she  pres- 
ently seemed  in  the  state  of  happy  indifference  which 
comes  with  a  life  exempt  from  care.  Whether  it  were 
that  the  habit  of  living  in  this  house  to  which  infirmities 
confined  her  enabled  her  to  perceive  certain  natural 
effects  that  are  imperceptible  to  the  senses  of  others,  but 
which  persons  under  the  influence  of  excessive  feeling 
are  keen  to  discover,  or  whether  Nature,  in  compensation 


22  The  Alkahest. 

for  her  physical  defects,  had  given  her  more  delicate 
sensations  than  better  organized  beings,  —  it  is  certain 
that  this  woman  had  heard  the  steps  of  a  man  in  a  gallery 
built  above  the  kitchens  and  the  servants'  hall,  b}'  which 
the  front  house  communicated  with  the  "back-quarter." 
The  steps  grew  more  distinct.  Soon,  without  possess- 
ing the  power  of  this  ardent  creature  to  abolish  space 
and  meet  her  other  self,  even  a  stranger  would  have 
heard  the  foot-fall  of  a  man  upon  the  staircase  which 
led  down  from  the  gallerj'  to  the  parlor. 

The  sound  of  that  step  would  have  startled  the  most 
heedless  being  into  thought ;  it  was  impossible  to  hear 
it  coolly.  A  precipitate,  headlong  step  produces  fear. 
When  a  man  springs  forward  and  cries,  "  Fire ! "  his 
feet  speak  as  loudly  as  his  voice.  If  this  be  so,  then  a 
contrary  gait  ought  not  to  cause  less  powerful  emotion. 
The  slow  approach,  the  dragging  step  of  the  coming 
man  might  have  irritated  an  unreflecting  spectator  ;  but 
an  observer,  or  a  nervous  person,  would  undoubtedly 
have  felt  something  akin  to  terror  at  the  measured  tread 
of  feet  that  seemed  devoid  of  life,  and  under  which  the 
stairs  creaked  loudly,  as  though  two  iron  weights  were 
striking  them  alternately.  The  mind  recognized  at 
once  either  the  heavy,  undecided  step  of  an  old  man  or 
the  majestic  tread  of  a  great  thinker  bearing  the  worlds 
with  him. 

When  the  man  had  reached  the  lowest  stair,  and  had 


TJie  Alkahest,  03 

planted  both  feet  upon  the  tiled  floor  with  a  hesitating, 
uncertain  movement,  he  stood  still  for  a  moment  on  the 
wide  landing  which  led  on  one  side  to  the  servants'  hall, 
and  on  the  other  to  the  parlor  through  a  door  concealed 
in  the  panelling  of  that  room,  —as  was  another  door, 
leading  from  the  parlor  to  the  dining-room.     At  this 
moment  a  slight  shudder,  like  the  sensation  caused  by 
an  electric  spark,  shook  the  woman  seated  in  the  arm- 
chair ;  then  a  soft  smile  brightened  her  lips,  and  her 
face,  moved  by  the  expectation  of  a  pleasure,  shone  like 
that  of  an   Italian  Madonna.      She  suddenly   gained 
strength  to  drive  her  terrors  back  into  the  depths  of 
her  heart.     Then  she  turned  her  face  to  the  panel  of 
the  wall  which  she  knew  was  about  to  open,  and  which 
in  fact  was  now  pushed  in  with  such  brusque  violence 
that  the  poor  woman  herself  seemed  jarred  by  the  shock. 
Balthazar  Claes  suddenly  appeared,  made  a  few  steps 
forward,  did  not  look  at  the  woman,  or  if  he  looked  at 
her  did  not  see  her,  and  stood  erect  in  the  middle  of 
the  parlor,  leaning  his  half-bowed  head  on  his  right 
hand.     A  sharp  pang  to  which  the  woman  could  not 
accustom  herself,  although  it  was  daily  renewed,  wnnig 
her  heart,  dispelled  her  smile,  contracted  the  sallow 
forehead   between   the  e3-ebrows,   indenting  that  line 
which   the    frequent    expression   of   excessive    feeling 
scores  so  deeply :  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  she 
wiped  them  quickly  as  she  looked  at  Balthazar. 


24  The  Alkahest. 

It  was  impossible  not  to  be  deeply  impressed  by  this 
head  of  the  family  of  Claes.  When  young,  he  must 
have  resembled  the  noble  family  martyr  who  had 
threatened  to  be  another  Artevelde  to  Charles  V. ;  but 
as  he  stood  there  at  this  moment,  he  seemed  over  sixty 
years  of  age,  though  he  was  only  fifty  ;  and  this  prema- 
ture old  age  had  destroyed  the  honorable  likeness.  His 
tall  figure  was  slightly  bent,  —  either  because  his  labors, 
whatever  they  were,  obliged  him  to  stoop,  or  that  the 
spinal  column  was  curved  by  the  weight  of  his  head. 
He  had  a  broad  chest  and  square  shoulders,  but  the 
lower  parts  of  the  body  were  lank  and  wasted,  though 
nervous ;  and  this  discrepancy  in  a  ph3'sica]  organiza- 
tion evidently  once  perfect  puzzled  the  mind  which 
endeavored  to  explain  this  anomalous  figure  by  some 
possible  singularities  of  the  man's  life. 

His  thick  blond  hair,  ill  cared-for,  fell  over  his  shoul- 
ders in  the  Dutch  fashion,  and  its  very  disorder  was  in 
keeping  with  the  general  eccentricity  of  his  person. 
His  broad  brow  showed  certain  protuberances  which 
Gall  identifies  with  poetic  genius.  His  clear  and  full 
blue  eyes  had  the  brusque  vivacity  which  may  be 
noticed  in  searchers  for  occult  causes.  The  nose, 
probably  perfect  in  early  life,  was  now  elongated,  and 
the  nostrils  seemed  to  have  graduall}^  opened  wider 
from  an  involuntary  tension  of  the  olfactorj^  muscles. 
The  cheek-bones  were  very  prominent,  which  made  the 


The  Alkahest.  25 

cheeks  themselves,  already  withered,  seem  more  sunken  • 
his  mouth,  full  of  sweetness,  was  squeezed  in  between 
the  nose  and  a  short  chin,  which  projected  sharply. 
The  shape  of  the  face,  however,  was  long  rather  than 
oval,  and  the  scientific  doctrine  which  sees  in  ever}- 
human  face  a  likeness  to  an  animal  would  have  found 
its  confirmation  in  that  of  Balthazar  Claiis,  which  bore  a 
strong  resemblance  to  a  horse's  head.  The  skin  clunir 
closel}'  to  the  bones,  as  though  some  inward  fire  were 
incessantly  drying  its  juices.  Sometimes,  when  he 
gazed  into  space,  as  if  to  see  the  realization  of  his 
hopes,  it  almost  seemed  as  though  the  flames  that 
devoured  his  soul  were  issuing  from  his  nostrils. 

The  inspired  feelings  that  animate  great  men  shone 
forth  on  the  pale  face  furrowed  with  wrinkles,  on  the 
brow  haggard  with  care  like  that  of  an  old  monarch, 
but  above  all  they  gleamed  in  the  sparkling  eye,  whose 
fii-es  were  fed  by  chastity  imposed  by  the  tyranny  of 
ideas  and  by  the  inward  consecration  of  a  great  intel- 
lect. The  cavernous  eyes  seemed  to  have  sunk  in  their 
orbits  through  midnight  vigils  and  the  terrible  reaction 
of  hopes  destroyed,  yet  ceaselessly  reborn.  The  zealous 
fanaticism  inspired  by  an  art  or  a  science  was  evident 
in  this  man  ;  it  betrayed  itself  in  the  strange,  persistent 
abstraction  of  his  mind  expressed  by  his  dress  and  bear- 
ing, which  were  in  keeping  with  the  anomalous  pecu- 
liarities of  his  person. 


26  The  Alkahest. 

His  large,  hairy  hands  were  dirty,  and  the  nails, 
which  were  very  long,  had  deep  black  lines  at  theii 
extremities.  His  shoes  were  not  cleaned  and  the  shoe- 
strings were  missing.  Of  all  that  Flemish  household, 
the  master  alone  took  the  strange  liberty  of  being  slov- 
enly. His  black  cloth  trousers  were  covered  with 
stains,  his  waistcoat  was  unbuttoned,  his  cravat  awry, 
his  gi'eenish  coat  ripped  at  the  seams,  — completing  an 
array  of  signs,  great  and  small,  which  in  any  other  man 
would  have  betokened  a  poverty  begotten  of  vice,  but 
which  in  Balthazar  Claes  was  the  negligence  of  genius. 

Vice  and  Genius  too  often  produce  the  same  effects  ; 
and  this  misleads  the  common  mind.  What  is  genius 
but  a  long  excess  which  squanders  time  and  wealth  and 
physical  powers,  and  leads  more  rapidl}'  to  a  hospital 
than  the  worst  of  passions?  Men  even  seem  to  have 
more  respect  for  vices  than  for  genius,  since  to  the  lat- 
ter they  refuse  credit.  The  profits  accruing  from  the 
hidden  labors  of  the  brain  are  so  remote  that  the  social 
world  fears  to  square  accounts  with  the  man  of  learning 
in  his  lifetime,  preferring  to  get  rid  of  its  obligations  by 
not  forgiving  his  misfortunes  or  his  poverty. 

If,  in  spite  of  this  inveterate  forgetfulness  of  the 
present,  Balthazar  Claes  had  abandoned  his  mysteri- 
ous abstractions,  if  some  sweet  and  companionable 
meaning  had  revisited  that  thoughtful  countenance,  if 
the  fixed  eyes  had  lost  their  rigid  strain  and  shone  with 


The  Alkahest.  27 

feeling,  if  he  had  ever  looked  humanly  about  him  and 
returned  to  the  real  Ufe  of  common  things,  it  would 
indeed  have  been  difficult  not  to  do  involuntary  homage 
to  the  winning  beauty  of  his  face  and  the  gracious  soul 
that  would  then  have  shone  from  it.  As  it  was,  all 
who  looked  at  him  regretted  that  the  man  belonged  no 
more  to  the  world  at  large,  and  said  to  one  another : 
"  He  must  have  been  very  handsome  in  his  youth."  A 
vulgar  en-or !  Never  was  Balthazar  Claes's  appearance 
more  poetic  than  at  this  moment.  Lavater,  had  he  seen 
him,  would  fain  have  studied  that  head  so  full  of  pa- 
tience, of  Flemish  loyalty,  and  pure  morality,  —  where 
all  was  broad  and  noble,  and  passion  seemed  calm  be- 
cause it  was  strong. 

The  conduct  of  this  man  could  not  be  otherwise  than 
pure ;  his  word  was  sacred,  his  friendships  seemed  un- 
deviating,  his  self-devotedness  complete :  and  yet  the 
will  to  employ  those  qualities  in  patriotic  service,  for 
the  world  or  for  the  family,  was  directed,  fatally,  else- 
where. This  citizen,  bound  to  guard  the  welfare  of  a 
household,  to  manage  property,  to  guide  his  children 
towards  a  noble  future,  was  living  outside  the  line  of 
his  duty  and  his  affections,  in  communion  with  an  at- 
tendant spirit.  A  priest  might  have  thought  him  in- 
spired by  the  word  of  God  ;  an  artist  would  have  hailed 
him  as  a  great  master ;  an  enthusiast  would  have  taken 
him  for  a  seer  of  the  Swedenborgian  faith. 


28  The  Alkahest. 

At  the  present  moment,  the  dilapidated,  uncouth, 
and  ruined  clothes  that  he  wore  contrasted  strangely 
with  the  graceful  elegance  of  the  woman  who  was  sadly 
admiring  him.  Deformed  persons  who  have  intellect, 
or  nobility  of  soul,  show  an  exquisite  taste  in  their  ap- 
parel. Either  they  dress  simply,  convinced  that  their 
charm  is  wholly  moral,  or  they  make  others  forget  their 
imperfections  by  an  elegance  of  detail  which  diverts  the 
e3'e  and  occupies  the  mind.  Not  onl}'  did  this  woman 
possess  a  noble  soul,  but  she  loved  Balthazar  Claes 
with  that  instinct  of  the  woman  which  gives  a  foretaste 
of  the  communion  of  angels.  Brought  up  in  one  of  the 
most  illustrious  families  of  Belgium,  she  would  have 
learned  good  taste  had  she  not  possessed  it ;  and  now, 
taught  by  the  desire  of  constantly  pleasing  the  man  she 
loved,  she  knew  how  to  clothe  herself  admirabl}',  and 
without  producing  incongruity  between  her  elegance  and 
the  defects  of  her  conformation.  The  bust,  however, 
was  defective  in  the  shoulders  onl}-,  one  of  which  was 
noticeably  much  larger  than  the  other. 

She  looked  out  of  the  window  into  the  court-yard, 
then  towards  the  garden,  as  if  to  make  sure  she  was 
alone  with  Balthazar,  and  presently  said,  in  a  gentle 
voice  and  with  a  look  full  of  a  Flemish  woman's  sub- 
missiveness,  —  for  between  these  two  love  had  long 
since  driven  out  the  pride  of  her  Spanish  nature  :  — 

"  Balthazar,   are   you   so  very  busy?    this    is    the 


The  Alkahest.  29 

thirty-third  Sunday  since  you  have  been  to  mass  or 
vespers." 

Claes  did  not  answer;  his  wife  bowed  her  head, 
clasped  her  hands,  and  waited:  she  knew  that  his 
silence  meant  neither  contempt  nor  indifference,  only  a 
tyrannous  preoccupation.  Balthazar  was  one  of  those 
beings  who  preserve  deep  in  their  souls  and  after  lon<^ 
years  all  their  youthful  delicacy  of  feeling ;  he  would 
have  thought  it  criminal  to  wound  by  so  much  as  a 
-word  a  woman  weighed  down  by  the  sense  of  i)h\sical 
disfigurement.  No  man  knew  better  than  he  that  a 
look,  a  word,  suffices  to  blot  out  years  of  happiness, 
and  is  the  more  cruel  because  it  contrasts  with  the  un- 
failing tenderness  of  the  past :  our  nature  leads  us  to 
suffer  more  from  one  discord  in  our  happiness  than 
pleasure  coming  in  the  midst  of  trouble  can  bring  us 

joy- 
Presently  Balthazar  appeared  to  waken ;   he  looked 

quickly  about  him,  and  said,  — 

"  Vespers?    Ah,  3"es !  the  children  are  at  vespers." 
He  made  a  few  steps  forward,  and  looked  into  the 

garden,  where  magnificent  tulips  were  growing  on  all 

sides  ;  then  he  suddenly  stopped  short  as  if  brought  up 

against  a  wall,  and  cried  out,  — 

"Why   should    they   not    combine    within   a  given 

time?" 

"  Is  he  going  mad?"  thought  the  wife,  much  terrified 


30  The  Alkahest. 

To  give  greater  interest  to  the  present  scene,  which 
was  called  forth  by  the  situation  of  their  affairs,  it  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  glance  back  at  the  past  lives  of 
Balthazar  Claes  and  the  granddaughter  of  the  Duke  of 
Casa-Real. 

Towards  the  year  1783,  Monsieur  Balthazar  Claes- 
Molina  de  Nourho,  then  twenty-two  years  of  age,  was 
what  is  called  in  France  a  fine  man.  He  came  to  finish 
his  education  in  Paris,  where  he  acquired  excellent 
manners  in  the  societj^  of  Madame  d'Egmont,  Count 
Horn,  the  Prince  of  Aremberg,  the  Spanish  ambassa- 
dor, Helvetius,  and  other  Frenchmen  originally  from 
Belgium,  or  coming  lately  thence,  whose  birth  or  wealth 
won  them  admittance  among  the  great  seigneurs  who 
at  that  time  gave  the  tone  to  social  life.  Young  Claes 
found  several  relations  and  friends  ready  to  launch  him 
into  the  great  world  at  the  very  moment  when  that 
world  was  about  to  fall.  Like  other  young  men,  he 
was  at  first  more  attracted  by  glory  and  science  than 
by  the  vanities  of  life.  He  frequented  the  society  of 
scientific  men,  particularly  Lavoisier,  who  at  that  time 
was  better  known  to  the  world  for  his  enormous  fortune 
as  a.  fermier- general  than  for  his  discoveries  in  chemis- 
tr}',  —  though  later  the  great  chemist  was  to  eclipse  the 
man  of  wealth. 

Balthazar  grew  enamoured  of  the  science  which  La- 
voisier cultivated,  and  became  his  devoted  disciple ; 


The  AlkahesL  81 

but  he  was  young,  and  handsome  as  Hclvcfms,  and  be- 
fore long  the  Parisian  women  taught  him  to  distil  wit 
and  love  exclusively-.  Though  he  had  studied  chemis- 
try with  such  ardor  that  Lavoisier  commended  him,  he 
deserted  science  and  his  master  for  those  mistresses  of 
fashion  and  good  taste  from  whom  young  men  take  fin- 
ishing lessons  in  knowledge  of  life,  and  learn  the  usages 
of  good  society,  which  in  Europe  forms,  as  it  were,  one 
family. 

The  intoxicating  dream  of  social  success  lasted  but  a 
short  time.  Balthazar  left  Paris,  weary  of  a  hollow 
existence  which  suited  neither  his  ardent  soul  nor  his 
loving  heart.  Domestic  life,  so  calm,  so  tender,  which 
the  very  name  of  Flanders  recalled  to  him,  seemed  far 
more  fitted  to  his  character  and  to  the  aspirations  of 
his  heart.  No  gilded  Parisian  salon  had  effaced  from 
his  mind  the  harmonies  of  the  panelled  parlor  and  the 
little  garden  where  his  happj^  childhood  had  slipped 
awa}'.  A  man  must  needs  be  without  a  home  to  re- 
main in  Paris,  —  Paris,  the  city  of  cosmopolitans,  of 
men  who  wed  the  world,  and  clasp  her  with  the  arms 
of  Science,  Art,  or  Power. 

The  son  of  Flanders  came  back  to  Douai,  Uke  La 
Fontaine's  pigeon  to  its  nest ;  he  wept  with  joy  as  ho 
re-entered  the  town  on  the  day  of  the  Gayant  proces- 
sion,—  Gaj'ant,  the  superstitious  luck  of  Douai,  tlio 
glory  of  Flemish  traditions,  introduced   there  at   the 


32  The  Alkahest, 

time  the  Claes  family  had  emigrated  from  Ghent.  The 
death  of  Balthazar's  father  and  mother  had  left  the  old 
mansion  deserted,  and  the  young  man  was  occupied  for 
a  time  in  settling  its  affairs.  His  first  grief  over,  he 
wished  to  marry ;  he  needed  the  domestic  happiness 
whose  every  religious  aspect  had  fastened  upon  his 
mind.  He  even  followed  the  family  custom  of  seeking 
a  wife  in  Ghent,  or  at  Bruges,  or  Antwerp  ;  but  it  hap- 
pened that  no  woman  whom  he  met  there  suited  him. 
Undoubtedly,  he  had  certain  peculiar  ideas  as  to  mar- 
riage ;  from  his  youth  he  had  been  accused  of  never 
following  the  beaten  track. 

One  day,  at  the  house  of  a  relation  in  Ghent,  he 
heard  a  j'oung  lad}-,  then  li\nng  in  Brussels,  spoken  of 
in  a  manner  which  gave  rise  to  a  long  discussion.  Some 
said  that  the  beauty  of  Mademoiselle  de  Temninck  was 
destroj'ed  by  the  imperfections  of  her  figure ;  others 
declared  that  she  was  perfect  in  spite  of  her  defects. 
Balthazar's  old  cousin,  at  whose  house  the  discussion 
took  place,  assured  his  guests  that,  handsome  or  not, 
she  had  a  soul  that  would  make  him  marry  her  were  he 
a  marrying  man ;  and  he  told  how  she  had  lately  re- 
nounced her  share  of  her  parents'  property  to  enable 
her  brother  to  make  a  marriage  worthy  of  his  name ; 
thus  preferring  his  happiness  to  her  own,  and  sacrificing 
her  fulure  to  his  interests,  —  for  it  was  not  to  be  sup- 
posed that  Mademoiselle  de  Temninck  would  marr}-  late 


The  Alkahest.  33 

m  life  and  without  property  when,  young  and  wealthy, 
she  had  met  with  no  aspirant. 

A  few  days  later,  Balthazar  Claes  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Mademoiselle  de  Temninck  ;  with  whom  he  fell 
deeply  in  love.  At  first,  Josephine  de  Temninck 
thought  herself  the  object  of  a  mere  caprice,  and  re- 
fused to  listen  to  Monsieur  Claes ;  but  passion  is  con- 
tagious ;  and  to  a  poor  girl  who  was  lame  and  ill-made, 
the  sense  of  inspiring  love  in  a  young  and  handsome 
man  carries  with  it  such  strong  seduction  that  she 
finally  consented  to  allow  him  to  woo  her. 

It  would  need  a  volume  to  paint  the  love  of  a  young 
girl  humbly  submissive  to  the  verdict  of  a  world  that  calls 
her  plain,  while  she  feels  within  her  the  irresistible  charm 
which  comes  of  sensibility  and  true  feeling.  It  involves 
fierce  jealous}'  of  happiness,  freaks  of  cruel  vengeance 
against  some  fancied  rival  who  wins  a  glance,  —  emo- 
tions, terrors,  unknown  to  the  majority-  of  women,  and 
which  ought,  therefore,  to  be  more  than  indicated. 
The  doubt,  the  dramatic  doubt  of  love,  is  the  key- 
note of  this  analysis,  where  cei-tain  souls  will  find  once 
more  the  lost,  but  unforgotten,  poetry  of  their  early 
struggles  ;  the  passionate  exaltations  of  the  heart  which 
the  face  must  not  betray ;  the  fear  that  we  may  not  be 
understood,  and  the  boundless  joy  of  being  so;  the 
hesitations  of  the  soul  which  recoils  upon  itself,  and  the 
magnetic  propulsions  which  give  to  the  eyes  an  infiui- 


34  The  Alkahest. 

tude  of  shades  ;  the  promptings  to  suicide  caused  by  a 
word,  dispelled  by  an  intonation ;  trembling  glances 
which  veil  an  inward  daring ;  sudden  desires  to  speak 
and  act  that  are  paral^'zed  by  their  own  violence ;  the 
secret  eloquence  of  common  phrases  spoken  in  a  quiver- 
ing voice ;  the  mysterious  workings  of  that  pristine 
modest}'  of  soul  and  that  divine  discernment  which 
lead  to  hidden  generosities,  and  give  so  exquisite  a 
flavor  to  silent  devotion  ;  in  short,  all  the  loveliness  of 
young  love,  and  the  weaknesses  of  its  power. 

Mademoiselle  Josephine  de  Temninck  was  coquettish 
from  nobility  of  soul.  The  sense  of  her  obvious  imper- 
fections made  her  as  difficult  to  win  as  the  handsomest 
of  women.  The  fear  of  some  day  displeasing  the  eye 
roused  her  pride,  destroyed  her  trustfulness,  and  gave 
her  the  courage  to  hide  in  the  depths  of  her  heart  that 
dawning  happiness  which  other  women  delight  in  mak- 
ing known  by  their  manners,  —  wearing  it  proudly,  like 
a  coronet.  The  more  love  urged  her  towards  Balthazar, 
the  less  she  dared  to  express  her  feelings.  The  glance, 
the  gesture,  the  question  and  answer  as  it  were  of  a 
pretty  woman,  so  flattering  to  the  man  she  loves,  would 
thej'  not  be  in  her  case  mere  humiliating  speculation  ? 
A  beautiful  woman  can  be  her  natural  self,  —  the  world 
overlooks  her  little  follies  or  her  clumsiness ;  whereas 
a  single  criticising  glance  checks  the  noblest  expression 
on  the  lips  of  an  ugly  woman,  adds  to  the  ill-grace  of 


The  Alkahest.  ge 

her  gesture,  gives  timidity  to  her  eyes  and  awkwardnosa 
to  her  whole  bearing.  She  knows  too  well  that  to  her 
alone  the  world  condones  no  faults ;  she  is  denied  the 
right  to  repair  them ;  indeed,  the  chance  to  do  so  is 
never  given.  This  necessity  of  being  perfect  and  on 
her  guard  at  every  moment,  must  surely  chill  her  facul- 
ties and  numb  their  exercise?  Such  a  woman  can  exist 
only  in  an  atmosphere  of  angelic  forbearance.  AVhcre 
are  the  hearts  from  which  forbearance  comes  with  no 
alloy  of  bitter  and  stinging  pity? 

These  thoughts,  to  which  the  codes  of  social  life  had 
accustomed   her,  and  the   sort  of  consideration  more 
wounding  than  insult  shown  to  her  by  the  world,  —  a 
consideration  which  increases  a  misfortune  by  makin^r 
it  apparent,  —  oppressed  Mademoiselle   de  Temninck 
with  a  constant  sense  of  embarrassment,  which  drove 
back  into  her  soul  its  happiest  expression,  and  chilled 
and   stiffened    her    attitudes,    her  speech,   her    looks. 
Loving  and  beloved,  she  dared  to  be  eloquent  or  l)eaii- 
tiful  only  when  alone.     Unhappy  and  oppressed  in  the 
broad  daylight  of  life,  she  might  have  been  enchanting 
could  she  have  expanded  in  the  shadow.     Often,  to  test 
the  love  thus  offered  to  her,  and  at  the  risk  of  losing  it, 
she  refused  to  wear  the  draperies  that  concealed  some 
portion  of  her  defects,  and  her  Spanish  eyes  grew  en- 
trancing  when   the}-  saw  that  Balthazar  thought  her 
beautiful  as  before. 


36  The  Alkahest. 

Nevertheless,  even  so,  distrust  spoiled  tlie  rare  mo- 
ments when  she  3'ielded  herself  to  happiness.  She 
asked  herself  if  Claes  were  not  seeking  a  domestic 
slave, — one  who  would  necessarilj^  keep  the  house? 
whether  he  had  himself  no  secret  imperfection  which 
obliged  him  to  be  satisfied  with  a  poor,  deformed  girl? 
Such  perpetual  misgivings  gave  a  priceless  value  to  the 
few  short  hours  during  which  she  trusted  the  sincerity 
and  the  permanence  of  a  love  which  was  to  avenge  her 
on  the  world.  Sometimes  she  provoked  hazardous 
discussions,  and  probed  the  inner  consciousness  of  her 
lover  b}'  exaggerating  her  defects.  At  such  times  she 
often  wrung  from  Balthazar  truths  that  were  far  from 
flattering  ;  but  she  loved  the  embarrassment  into  which 
he  fell  when  she  had  led  him  to  sa^-  that  what  he  loved 
in  a  woman  was  a  noble  soul  and  the  devotion  which 
made  each  day  of  life  a  constant  happiness  ;  and  that 
after  a  few  years  of  married  life  the  handsomest  ol 
women  was  no  more  to  a  husband  than  the  ugliest. 
After  gathering  up  what  there  was  of  truth  in  ail  such 
paradoxes  tending  to  reduce  the  value  of  beaut}',  Bal- 
thazar would  suddenly  perceive  the  ungraciousness  of 
his  remarks,  and  show  the  goodness  of  his  heart  by 
the  delicate  transitions  of  thought  with  which  he  proved 
to  Mademoiselle  de  Temninck  that  she  was  perfect  in 
his  eyes. 

The  spirit  of  devotion  which,  it  may  be,  is  the  crown 


The  Alkahest.  37 

of  love  in  a  woman,  was  not  lacking  in  this  youu«y  (r\x\^ 
who  had  always  despaired  of  being  loved  ;  at  first,  the 
prospect  of  a  struggle  in  which  feeling  and  sentiment 
would  triumph  over  actual  beauty  tempted  her ;  then, 
she  fancied  a  grandeur  in  giving  herself  to  a  man  in 
whose  love  she  did  not  believe  ;  finally,  she  was  forced 
to  admit  that  happiness,  however  short  its  duration 
might  be,  was  too  precious  to  resign. 

Such  hesitations,  such  struggles,  giving  the  charm 
and  the  unexpectedness  of  passion  to  this  noble  crea- 
ture, inspu-ed  Balthazar  with  a  love  that  was  well-nigh 
chivaliic 


38  The  Alkahest. 


III. 


The  marriage  took  place  at  the  beginning  of  the 
year  1795.  Husband  and  wife  came  to  Douai  that  the 
first  days  of  their  union  might  be  spent  in  the  patriar- 
chal house  of  the  Claes,  —  the  treasures  of  which  were 
increased  by  those  of  Mademoiselle  de  Temninck,  who 
brought  with  her  several  fine  pictures  of  Murillo  and 
Velasquez,  the  diamonds  of  her  mother,  and  the  mag- 
nificent wedding-gifts,  made  to  her  by  her  brother,  the 
Duke  of  Casa-Real. 

Few  women  were  ever  happier  than  Madame  Claes. 
Her  happiness  lasted  for  fifteen  years  without  a  cloud, 
diffusing  itself  like  a  vivid  light  into  every  nook  and 
detail  of  her  life.  Most  men  have  inequalities  of 
character  which  produce  discord,  and  deprive  their 
households  of  the  harmony  which  is  the  ideal  of  a 
home ;  the  majorit}^  are  blemished  with  some  littleness 
or  meanness,  and  meanness  of  axiy  kind  begets  bicker- 
ing. One  man  is  honorable  and  diligent,  but  hard  and 
crabbed  ;  another  kindl}^,  but  obstinate  ;  this  one  loves 
his  wife,  yet  his  will  is  arbitraiy  and  uncertain ;  that 
other,  preoccupied  by  ambition,  Days  off  his  affections 


The  Alkahest.  39 

as  he  would  a  debt,  bestows  the  luxuries  of  wealth  but 
deprives  the  daily  life  of  happiness,  —  in  short,  the  aver- 
age man  of  social  life  is  essentially  incomplete,  without 
being  signally  to  blame.  Men  of  talent  are  as  variable 
as  barometers ;  genius  alone  is  intrinsically  good. 

For  this  reason  unalloyed  happiness  is  found  at  the 
two  extremes  of  the  moral  scale.  The  good-natured 
fool  and  the  man  of  genius  alone  are  capable  —  the  one 
through  weakness,  the  other  by  strength  —  of  that 
equanimity  of  temper,  that  unvarjing  gentleness,  which 
soften  the  asperities  of  daily  life.  In  the  one,  it  is  in- 
difference or  stohdity ;  in  the  other,  indulgence  and  a 
portion  of  the  divine  thought  of  which  he  is  the  inter- 
preter, and  which  needs  to  be  consistent  alike  in  princi- 
ple and  application.  Both  natures  are  equally  simple  ; 
but  in  one  there  is  vacancy,  in  the  other  depth.  This 
is  why  clever  women  are  disposed  to  take  dull  men  as 
the  small  change  for  gi-eat  ones. 

Balthazar  Claes  carried  his  greatness  into  the  lesser 
things  of  life.  He  delighted  in  considering  conjugal 
love  as  a  magnificent  work ;  and  like  all  men  of  loft}' 
aims  who  can  bear  nothing  imperfect,  he  wished  to 
develop  all  its  beauties.  His  powers  of  mind  enlivened 
the  calm  of  happiness,  his  noble  nature  marked  his 
attentions  with  the  charm  of  grace.  Though  he  shared 
the  philosophical  tenets  of  the  eighteenth  century,  he 
installed  a  chaplain  in  his  home  until  1801  (in  spite  of 


40  The  Alkahest. 

the  risk  he  ran  from  the  revohitionary  decrees),  so  that 
he  might  not  thwart  the  Spanish  fanaticism  which  his 
wife  had  sucked  in  with  her  mother's  milk  :  later,  when 
public  worship  was  restored  in  France,  he  accompanied 
her  to  mass  ever}'^  Sunday.  His  passion  never  ceased 
to  be  that  of  a  lover.  The  protecting  power,  which 
women  like  so  much,  was  never  exercised  by  this  hus- 
band, lest  to  that  wife  it  might  seem  pity.  He  ti'eated 
her  with  exquisite  flattery  as  an  equal,  and  sometimes 
mutinied  against  her,  as  men  will,  as  though  to  brave 
the  supremacy  of  a  pretty  woman.  His  lips  wore  a 
smile  of  happiness,  his  speech  was  ever  tender;  he 
loved  his  Josephine  for  herself  and  for  himself,  with  an 
ardor  that  crowned  with  perpetual  praise  the  qualities 
and  the  loveliness  of  a  wife. 

Fidelity,  often  the  result  of  social  principle,  religious 
duty,  or  self-interest  on  the  part  of  a  husband,  was  in 
this  case  involuntar}',  and  not  without  the  sweet  flat- 
teries of  the  spring-time  of  love.  Duty  was  the  only 
marriage  obligation  unknown  to  these  lovers,  whose 
love  was  equal ;  for  Balthazar  Claes  found  the  com- 
plete and  lasting  realization  of  his  hopes  in  Mademoi- 
selle de  Temninck ;  his  heart  was  satisfied  but  not 
wearied,  the  man  within  him  was  ever  happy. 

Not  only  did  the  daughter  of  Casa-Real  derive  from 
her  Spanish  blood  the  intuition  of  that  science  which 
varies  pleasure  and  makes  it  infinite,  but  she  possessed 


The  Alkahest.  41 

the  spirit  of  unbounded  self-devotion,  which  is  the 
genius  of  her  sex  as  gi-ace  is  that  of  beauty.  Her  love 
was  a  blind  fanaticism  which,  at  a  notl,  would  have 
sent  her  joyously  to  her  death.  Balthazar's  own  deli- 
cacy had  exalted  the  generous  emotions  of  his  wife, 
and  inspired  her  with  an  imperious  need  of  giving  more 
than  she  received.  This  mutual  exchange  of  happiness 
which  each  lavished  upon  the  other,  put  the  mainspring 
of  her  life  \dsibly  outside  of  her  personality,  and  lilled 
her  words,  her  looks,  her  actions,  with  an  ever-growing 
love.  Gratitude  fertilized  and  varied  the  life  of  each 
heart ;  and  the  certaint}'  of  being  all  in  all  to  one 
another  excluded  the  paltry  things  of  existence,  while 
it  magnified  the  smallest  accessories. 

The  deformed  woman  whom  her  husband  thinks 
straight,  the  lame  woman  whom  he  would  not  have  oth- 
erwise, the  old  woman  who  seems  ever  young  —  are 
they  not  the  happiest  creatures  of  the  feminine  world  ? 
Can  human  passion  go  beyond  it?  The  glory  of  a 
woman  is  to  be  adored  for  a  defect.  To  forget  that  a 
lame  woman  does  not  walk  straight  may  be  the  glamour 
of  a  moment,  but  to  love  her  because  she  is  lame  is  the 
deification  of  her  defects.  In  the  gospel  of  woman- 
hood it  is  written:  "Blessed  are  the  imperfect,  for 
theirs  is  the  kingdom  of  Love."  If  this  be  so,  surely 
beauty  is  a  misfortune  ;  that  fugitive  flower  counts  for 
too  much  in  the  feeling  that  a  woman  inspires ;  often 


42  The  Alkahest. 

she  is  loved  for  her  beauty  as  another  is  married  for 
her  money.  But  the  love  inspired  or  bestowed  by  a 
woman  disinherited  of  the  frail  advantages  pursued  by 
the  sons  of  Adam,  is  true  love,  the  mysterious  passion, 
the  ardent  embrace  of  souls,  a  sentiment  for  which  the 
da}''  of  disenchantment  never  comes.  That  woman  has 
charms  unknown  to  the  world,  from  whose  jurisdiction 
she  withdraws  herself :  she  is  beautiful  with  a  meaning ; 
her  glory  lies  in  making  her  imperfections  forgotten, 
and  thus  she  constantly  succeeds  in  doing  so. 

The  celebrated  attachments  of  history  were  nearly  all 
inspired  by  women  in  whom  the  vulgar  mind  would 
have  found  defects,  —  Cleopatra,  Jeanne  de  Naples, 
Diane  de  Poitiers,  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere,  Madame 
de  Pompadour ;  in  fact,  the  majority  of  the  women  whom 
love  has  rendered  famous  were  not  without  infirmities 
and  imperfections,  while  the  greater  number  of  those 
whose  beauty  is  cited  as  perfect  came  to  some  tragic 
end  of  love. 

This  apparent  singularity  must  have  a  cause.  It 
may  be  that  man  lives  more  by  sentiment  than  by 
sense  ;  perhaps  the  physical  charm  of  beaut}'  is  limited, 
while  the  moral  charm  of  a  woman  without  beauty  is 
infinite.  Is  not  this  the  moral  of  the  fable  on  which 
the  Arabian  Nights  are  based?  An  ugly  wife  of 
Henry  VIII.  might  have  defied  the  axe,  and  subdued 
to  herself  the  inconstancy  of  her  master. 


The  Alkahest.  43 

Bv  a  strange  chance,  not  inexplicable,  however,  in  a 
girl  of  Spanish  origin,  Madame  Claiis  was  uneducated. 
She  knew  how  to  read  and  write,  but  up  to  the  a^e  of 
twent}-,  at  which  time  her  parents  withdrew  her  from  a 
convent,  she  had  read  none  but  ascetic  books.  Ou  her 
first  entrance  into  the  world,  she  was  eager  for  pleasure 
and  learned  onl}-  the  flimsy  art  of  dress ;  she  was,  more- 
over, so  deeply  conscious  of  her  ignorance  that  she 
•dared  not  join  in  conversation  ;  for  which  reason  she 
was  supposed  to  have  little  mind.  Yet,  the  mystical 
education  of  a  convent  had  one  good  result ;  it  left  her 
feelings  in  full  force  and  her  natural  powers  of  mind 
uninjured.  Stupid  and  plain  as  an  heiress  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world,  she  became  intellectual  and  beautiful  to 
her  husband.  During  the  first  years  of  their  married 
life,  Balthazar  endeavored  to  give  her  at  least  the 
knowledge  that  she  needed  to  appear  to  advantage  iu 
good  society' :  but  he  was  doubtless  too  late,  she  had 
no  memory  but  that  of  the  heart  Josephine  never 
forgot  anj-thiug  that  Claes  told  her  relathig  to  them- 
selves ;  she  remembered  the  most  trifling  circumstances 
■of  their  happy  Ufe ;  but  of  her  evening  studies  nothing 
remained  to  her  on  the  morrow. 

This  ignorance  might  have  caused  much  discord 
between  husband  and  wife,  but  Madame  Claes's  under- 
standing of  the  passion  of  love  was  so  simple  and 
ingenuous,  she   loved   her   husband   so  religiously,  so 


44  The  Alkahest. 

sacredly,  and  the  thought  of  preserving  her  happiness 
made  her  so  adroit,  that  she  managed  always  to  seem 
to  understand  him,  and  it  was  seldom  indeed  that  her 
ignorance  was  evident.  Moreover,  when  two  persons 
love  one  another  so  well  that  each  day  seems  for  them 
the  beginning  of  their  passion,  phenomena  arise  out  of 
this  teeming  happiness  which  change  all  the  conditions 
of  life.  It  resembles  childhood,  careless  of  all  that  is 
not  laughter,  joy,  and  merriment.  Then,  when  life  is 
in  full  activity,  when  its  hearths  glow,  man  lets  the  fire 
burn  without  thought  or  discussion,  without  consider- 
ing either  the  means  or  the  end. 

No  daughter  of  Eve  ever  more  \x\Ay  understood  the 
calling  of  a  wife  than  Madame  Claes.  She  had  all  the 
submission  of  a  Flemish  woman,  but  her  Spanish  pride 
gave  it  a  higher  flavor.  Her  bearing  was  imposing; 
she  knew  how  to  command  respect  b}'  a  look  which 
expressed  her  sense  of  birth  and  dignity :  but  she 
trembled  before  Claes ;  she  held  him  so  high,  so  near 
to  God,  carrying  to  him  every  act  of  her  life,  every 
thought  of  her  heart,  that  her  love  was  not  without  a 
certain  respectful  fear  which  made  it  keener.  She 
proudly  assumed  all  the  habits  of  a  Flemish  bourgeoise, 
and  put  her  self-love  into  making  the  home  life  liberally 
happy, —  preserving  every  detail  of  the  house  in  scrupu- 
lous cleanliness,  possessing  nothing  that  did  not  serve 
the  purposes  of  true  comfort,  supplying  her  table  with 


The  Alkahest.  45 

the  choicest  food,  and  putting  everything  within  those 
walls  into  harmon}-  with  the  life  of  her  heart. 

The  pair  had  two  sons  and  two  daughters.  The 
eldest,  Marguerite,  was  born  in  1796.  Tiie  last  child 
was  a  boy,  now  three  years  old,  named  Jean-Balthazar. 
The  maternal  sentiment  in  Madame  Claes  was  almost 
equal  to  her  love  for  her  husband ;  and  there  rose  in 
her  soul,  especially  during  the  last  days  of  her  Ufe,  a 
terrible  struggle  between  those  nearly  balanced  feel- 
ings, of  which  the  one  became,  as  it  were,  an  enemy  of 
the  other.  The  tears  and  the  terror  that  marked  her 
face  at  the  moment  when  this  tale  of  a  domestic  drama 
then  lowering  over  the  quiet  house  begins,  were  caused 
by  the  fear  of  having  sacrificed  her  children  to  her 
husband. 

In  1805,  Madame  Claes's  brother  died  without  chil- 
dren. The  Spanish  law  does  not  allow  a  sister  to  suc- 
ceed to  territorial  possessions,  which  follow  the  title ; 
but  the  duke  had  left  her  in  his  will  about  sixty  thou- 
sand ducats,  and  this  sum  the  heirs  of  the  collateral 
branch  did  not  seek  to  retain.  Though  the  feeling 
which  united  her  to  Balthazar  Claes  was  such  that  no 
thought  of  personal  interest  could  ever  sully  it,  Josi^phino 
felt  a  certain  pleasure  in  possessing  a  fortune  equal  to 
that  of  her  husband,  and  was  happy  in  giving  some- 
thing to  one  who  had  so  nobly  given  everything  to  her. 
Thus,  a  mere  chance  turned  a  marriage  which  worldly 


46  The  Alkahest. 

minds  had  declared  foolish,  into  an  excellent  alliance, 
seen  from  the  standpoint  of  material  interests.  The 
use  to  which  this  sum  of  money  should  be  put  became, 
however,  somewhat  diflScult  to  determine. 

The  House  of  Claes  was  so  richly  suppUed  with  fur- 
niture, pictures,  and  objects  of  art  of  priceless  value, 
that  it  was  difficult  to  add  anything  worth}'  of  what 
was  already  there.  The  tastes  of  the  famil}^  through 
long  periods  of  time  had  accumulated  these  treasui'es. 
One  generation  followed  the  quest  of  noble  pictures, 
leaving  behind  it  the  necessity  of  completing  a  collec- 
tion still  unfinished ;  and  thus  the  taste  became  he- 
reditary in  the  family.  The  hundred  pictures  which 
adorned  the  gallery  leading  from  the  family  building  to 
the  reception-rooms  on  the  first  floor  of  the  front  house, 
as  well  as  some  fifty  others  placed  about  the  salons, 
were  the  pi'oduct  of  the  patient  researches  of  three 
centuries.  Among  them  were  choice  specimens  of 
Rubens,  Ruj-sdael,  Vandj'ke,  Terburg,  Gerard  Dow, 
Teniers,  Mieris,  Paul  Potter,  Wouvermans,  Rembrandt, 
Hobbema,  Cranach,  and  Holbein.  French  and  Italian 
pictures  were  in  a  minority,  but  all  were  authentic  and 
masterly. 

Another  generation  had  fancied  Chinese  and  Japan- 
ese porcelains :  this  Claes  was  eager  after  rare  furni- 
ture, that  one  for  silver-ware  ;  in  fact,  each  and  all  had 
their  mania,  their  passion,  —  a  trait  which  belongs  in 


The  Alkahest.  47 

a  striking  degree  to  the  Flemish  character.  The  father 
of  Balthazar,  a  last  relic  of  the  once  famous  Dutch 
society,  left  behind  him  the  finest  known  collecUou  of 
tulips. 

Besides  these  hereditary  riches,  which  represented  an 
enormous  capital,  and  were  the  choice  ornament  of  the 
venerable  house,  —  a  house  that  was  simple  as  a  shell 
outside  but,  like  a  shell,  adorned  within  by  pearls  of 
price  and  glowing  with  rich  color,  —  Balthazar  C"hic3 
possessed  a  country-house  on  the  plain  of  Orchies,  not 
far  from  Douai.     Instead  of  basing  his  expenses,  as 
Frenchmen  do,  upon  his  revenues,  he  followed  the  old 
Dutch  custom  of  spending  only  a  fourth  of  his  income. 
Twelve  hundred  ducats  a  year  put  his  costs  of  living 
at  a  level  with  those  of  the  richest  men  of  the  place. 
The  promulgation  of  the  Civil  Code  proved  the  wisdom 
of  this  course.     Compelling,  as  it  did,  the  equal  divis- 
ion of  property,  the  Title  of  Succession  would  some 
da}'  leave  each  child  with  limited  means,  and  disperse 
the  treasures  of  the  Claes  collection.     Balthazar,  there- 
fore,   in   concert  with    Madame    Claes,    invested    liis 
wife's  property  so  as  to  secure  to  each  child  a  fortune 
eventually  equal  to  his  own.     The  house  of  Claiis  still 
maintained   its  moderate  scale  of  living,  and  bought 
woodlands  somewhat  the  worse  for  the  wars  that  had 
laid  waste  the  country,  but  which  in  ten  years'  time,  if 
well-preserved,  would  return  an  enormous  value. 


48  The  Alkahest, 

The  upper  ranks  of  society  in  Douai,  which  Mon- 
sieur Claes  frequented,  appreciated  so  justly  the  noble 
character  and  qualities  of  his  wife  that,  b}'-  tacit  con- 
sent she  was  released  from  those  social  duties  to  which 
the  provinces  cling  so  tenaciously.  During  the  winter 
season,  when  she  lived  in  town,  she  seldom  went  into 
society ;  society  came  to  her.  She  received  every 
Weduesda}-,  and  gave  three  grand  dinners  every 
month.  Her  friends  felt  that  she  was  more  at  ease  in 
her  own  house ;  where,  indeed,  her  passion  for  her 
husband  and  the  care  she  bestowed  on  the  education 
of  her  children  tended  to  keep  her. 

Such  had  been,  up  to  the  year  1809,  the  general 
course  of  this  household,  which  had  nothing  in  common 
with  the  ordinary  run  of  conventional  ideas,  though 
the  outward  life  of  these  two  persons,  secretly  full  of 
love  and  joy,  was  like  that  of  other  people.  Balthazar 
Claes's  passion  for  his  wife,  which  she  had  known  how 
to  perpetuate,  seemed,  to  use  his  own  expression,  to 
spend  its  inborn  vigor  and  fidelitj'  on  the  cultivation  of 
happiness,  which  was  far  better  than  the  cultivation  of 
tulips  (though  to  that  he  had  alwa^'S  had  a  leaning), 
and  dispensed  him  from  the  duty  of  following  a  mania 
like  his  ancestors. 

At  the  close  of  this  year,  the  mind  and  the  man- 
ners of  Balthazar  Claes  underwent  a  fatal  change,  —  a 
change  which  began  so  gradually  that  at  first  Madame 


The  Alkahest.  49 

Claes  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  inquire  the  cause. 
One  night  her  husband  went  to  bed  with  a  nuud  so 
preoccupied  that  she  felt  it  incumbent  on  her  to  respect 
his  mood.  Her  womanly  delicacy  and  her  submissive 
habits  always  led  her  to  wait  for  Balthazar's  confi- 
dence;  which,  indeed,  was  assured  to  her  by  so 
constant  an  affection  that  she  had  never  hati  the 
slightest  opening  for  jealousy.  Though  certain  of  ob- 
taining an  answer  whenever  she  should  make  the 
inquiry,  she  still  retained  enough  of  the  earlier  impres- 
sions of  her  life  to  dread  a  refusal.  Besides,  the  moral 
malady  of  her  husband  had  its  phases,  and  only  came 
by  slow  degrees  to  the  intolerable  point  at  which  it 
destroyed  the  happiness  of  the  family. 

However  occupied  Balthazar  Claes  might  be,  he 
continued  for  several  months  cheerful,  affectionate, 
and  ready  to  talk  ;  the  change  in  his  character  showed 
itself  only  by  frequent  periods  of  absent-mindedness. 
Madame  Claes  long  hoped  to  hear  from  her  husband 
himself  the  nature  of  the  secret  employment  in  which 
he  was  engaged  ;  perhaps,  she  thought,  he  would  reveal 
it  when  it  developed  some  useful  result ;  many  men  are 
led  by  pride  to  conceal  the  nature  of  their  efforts,  and 
only  make  them  known  at  the  moment  of  success. 
When  the  day  of  triumph  came,  surely  domestic  happi- 
ness would  return,  more  vivid  than  ever  when  Balthazar 
became  aware  of  this  chasm  in  the  life  of  love,  which 


50  The  Alkahest. 

his  heart  would  surely  disavow.  Josephine  knew  her 
husband  well  enough  to  be  certain  that  he  would  never 
forgive  himself  for  having  made  his  Pepita  less  than 
happy  during  several  months. 

She  kept  silence  therefore,  and  felt  a  sort  of  joy  in 
thus  suffering  by  him  for  him :  her  passion  had  a  tinge 
of  that  Spanish  piety  which  allows  no  separation  be- 
tween religion  and  love,  and  believes  in  no  sentiment 
without  suffering.  She  waited  for  the  return  of  her  hus- 
band's affection,  saying  daily  to  herself,  "To-morrow 
it  may  come,"  —  treating  her  happiness  as  though  it 
were  an  absent  friend. 

During  this  stage  of  her  secret  distress,  she  conceived 
her  last  child.  Horrible  crisis,  which  revealed  a  future 
of  anguish !  In  the  midst  of  her  husband's  abstrac- 
tions love  showed  itself  on  this  occasion  an  abstraction 
even  greater  than  the  rest.  Her  woman's  pride,  hurt 
for  the  first  time,  made  her  sound  the  depths  of  the 
unknown  abj'ss  which  separated  her  from  the  Claes  of 
earlier  days.  From  that  time  Balthazar's  condition 
grew  rapidly  worse.  The  man  formerly  so  wrapped  up 
in  his  domestic  happiness,  who  played  for  hours  with 
his  children  on  the  parlor  carpet  or  round  the  garden 
paths,  who  seemed  able  to  exist  only  in  the  light  of  his 
Pepita's  dark  eyes,  did  not  even  perceive  her  pregnane}', 
seldom  shared  the  family  life,  and  even  forgot  his 
own. 


The  Alkahest.  5j 

The  longer  Madame  Claes  postponed  inquiring  into 
the  cause  of  his  preoccupation  the  less  she  dared  to  do 
so.  At  the  very  idea,  her  blood  ran  cold  and  her  voice 
grew  faint.  At  last  the  thought  occurred  to  her  that 
she  had  ceased  to  please  her  husband,  and  then  indeed 
she  was  seriously  alarmed.  That  fear  now  filled  her 
mind,  drove  her  to  despair,  then  to  feverish  excitement, 
and  became  the  text  of  many  an  hour  of  melnncholv 
revery.  She  defended  Balthazar  at  her  own  expense, 
calling  herself  old  and  ugly  ;  then  she  imagined  a  gen- 
erous though  humiliating  consideration  for  her  in  this 
secret  occupation  by  which  he  secured  to  her  a  negative 
fidelity  ;  and  she  resolved  to  give  him  back  his  indepen- 
dence by  allowing  one  of  those  unspoken  divorces 
which  make  the  happiness  of  man}-  a  marriage. 

Before  bidding  farewell  to  conjugal  life,  Madame 
Claes  made  some  attempt  to  read  her  husband's  heart, 
and  found  it  closed.  Little  by  little,  she  saw  him 
become  indifferent  to  all  that  he  had  formerl}-  loved  ; 
he  neglected  his  tulips,  he  cared  no  longer  for  his 
children.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  he  was  given 
over  to  some  passion  that  was  not  of  the  heart,  but 
which,  to  a  woman's  mind,  is  not  less  withering.  His 
love  was  dormant,  not  lost :  this  might  be  a  consola- 
tion, but  the  misfortune  remained  the  same. 

The  continuance  of  such  a  state  of  things  is  ex- 
plained by  one  word, — hope,   the  secret  of  all  con- 


52  The  Alkahest. 

jugal  situations.  It  so  happened  that  whenever  the 
poor  woman  reached  a  depth  of  despair  which  gave  her 
courage  to  question  her  husband,  she  met  with  a  few 
brief  moments  of  happiness  when  she  was  able  to  feel 
that  if  Balthazar  were  indeed  in  the  clutch  of  some 
devilish  power,  he  was  permitted,  sometimes  at  least,  to 
return  to  himself.  At  such  moments,  when  her  heaven 
brightened,  she  was  too  eager  to  enjoy  its  happiness  to 
trouble  him  with  importunate  questions :  later,  when 
she  endeavored  to  speak  to  him,  he  would  suddenly 
escape,  leave  her  abruptly,  or  drop  into  the  gulf  of 
meditation  from  which  no  word  of  hers  could  drag 
him. 

Before  long  the  reaction  of  the  moral  upon  the  phys- 
ical  condition  began  its  ravages,  —  at  first  imperceptibly, 
except  to  the  eyes  of  a  loving  woman  following  the  se- 
cret thought  of  a  husband  through  all  its  manifesta- 
tions. Often  she  could  scarcely  restrain  her  tears  when 
she  saw  him,  after  dinner,  sink  into  an  armchair  bj'  the 
corner  of  the  fireplace,  and  remain  there,  gloom}'  and 
abstracted.  She  noted  with  terror  the  slow  changes 
which  deteriorated  that  face,  once,  to  her  e^'es,  sublime 
through  love :  the  life  of  the  soul  was  retreating  from 
it ;  the  structure  remained,  but  the  spirit  was  gone. 
Sometimes  the  eyes  were  glassy,  and  seemed  as  if  they 
had  turned  their  gaze  and  were  looking  inward.  When 
the  children  had  gone  to  bed,  and  the  silence  and  solitude 


The  Alkahest.  53 

oppressed  her,  Pepita  would  say,  "  My  friend,  arc  yoa 
ill  ? "  and  Balthazar  would  make  no  answer ;  or  if  ho 
answered,  he  would  come  to  himself  with  a  quiver,  like 
a  man  snatched  suddenly  from  sleep,  and  utter  a  "  No  " 
so  harsh  and  grating  that  it  fell  like  a  stone  on  the 
palpitating  heart  of  his  wife. 

Though  she  tried  to  hide  this  strange  state  of  things 
from  her  friends,  Madame  Claes  was  obliged  sometimes 
to  allude  to  it.  The  social  world  of  Douai,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  custom  of  provincial  towns,  had  made 
Balthazar's  aberrations  a  topic  of  conversation,  and 
man}'  persons  were  aware  of  certain  details  that  were 
still  unknown  to  Madame  Claes.  Disregarding  the  ret- 
icence which  politeness  demanded,  a  few  friends  ex- 
pressed to  her  so  much  anxiety  on  the  subject  that 
she  found  herself  compelled  to  defend  her  husband's 
peculiarities. 

"■  Monsieur  Claes,"  she  said,  "  has  undertaken  a 
work  which  wholly  absorbs  him  ;  its  success  will  even- 
tually redound  not  only  to  the  honor  of  the  family  but 
to  that  of  his  country." 

This  mysterious  explanation  was  too  flattering  to  the 
ambition  of  a  town  whose  local  patriotism  and  desire 
for  glory  exceed  those  of  other  places,  not  to  be  readily 
accepted,  and  it  produced  on  all  minds  a  reaction  in 
favor  of  Balthazar, 

The  supposition  of  his  wife  was,  to  a  certain  ext<;nt. 


64  The  Alkahest. 

well-founded.  Several  artificers  of  various  trades  had 
long  been  at  work  in  the  garret  of  the  front  house, 
where  Balthazar  went  early  every  morning.  After 
remaining,  at  first,  for  several  hours,  an  absence  to 
which  his  wife  and  household  grew  gradually  accus- 
tomed, he  ended  by  being  there  all  da}^  But  —  unex- 
pected shock  !  —  Madame  Claes  learned  through  the 
humiliating  medium  of  some  women  friends,  who 
showed  surprise  at  her  ignorance,  that  her  husband 
constantl}"  imported  instruments  of  physical  science, 
valuable  materials,  books,  machiner}^  etc.,  from  Paris, 
and  was  on  the  highroad  to  ruin  in  search  of  the  Phi- 
losophers' Stone.  She  ought,  so  her  kind  friends  ad- 
ded, to  think  of  her  children,  and  her  own  future;  it 
was  criminal  not  to  use  her  influence  to  draw  Monsieur 
Claes  from  the  fatal  path  on  which  he  had  entered. 

Though  Madame  Claes,  with  the  tone  and  manner  of 
a  great  lady,  silenced  these  absurd  speeches,  she  was 
inwardl}'  terrified  in  spite  of  her  apparent  confidence, 
and  she  resolved  to  break  through  her  present  system 
of  silence  and  resignation.  She  brought  about  one  of 
those  little  scenes  in  which  husband  and  wife  are  on  an 
equal  footing ;  less  timid  at  such  a  moment,  she  dared 
to  ask  Balthazar  the  reason  for  his  change,  the  mo- 
tive of  his  constant  seclusion.  The  Flemish  husband 
frowned,  and  replied  :  — 

"  My  dear,  you  could  not  understand  it." 


The  Alkahest,  55 

Soon  after,  however,  Josephine  insisted  on  being  told 
the  secret,  gently  complaining  that  she  was  not  allowed 
to  share  all  the  thoughts  of  one  whose  hfe  she  shared. 

"Very  well,  since  it  interests  you  so  much,"  said 
Balthazar,  taking  his  wife  upon  his  knee  and  caressing 
her  black  hair,  "I  will  tell  3-ou  that  I  have  returneil 
to  the  study  of  chemistry,  and  I  am  the  happiest  man 
on  earth." 


56  The  Alkahest. 


IV. 


Two  years  after  the  winter  when  Monsieur  Claes 
returned  to  chemistry,  the  aspect  of  his  house  was 
changed.  Whether  it  were  that  society  was  affronted  b}' 
his  perpetual  absent-mindedness  and  chose  to  think  it- 
self  in  the  way,  or  that  Madame  Claes's  secret  anxieties 
made  her  less  agreeable  than  before,  certain  it  is  that 
she  no  longer  saw  any  but  her  intimate  friends.  Bal- 
thazar went  nowhere,  shut  himself  up  in  his  laboratory' 
all  day,  sometimes  stayed  there  all  night,  and  onh'  ap- 
peared in  the  bosom  of  his  family  at  dinner-time. 

After  the  second  year  he  no  longer  passed  the  sum- 
mer at  his  country-house,  and  his  wife  was  unwilling 
to  live  there  alone.  Sometimes  he  went  to  walk  and 
did  not  return  till  the  following  day,  leaving  Madame 
Claes  a  prey  to  mortal  anxiety  during  the  night. 
After  causing  a  fruitless  search  for  him  through  the 
town,  whose  gates,  like  those  of  other  fortified  places, 
were  closed  at  night,  it  was  impossible  to  send  into  the 
country,  and  the  unhappy  woman  could  only  wait  and 
suffer  till  morning.  Balthazar,  who  had  forgotten  the 
hour  at  which  the  gates  closed,  would  come  tranquilly 


The  Alkahest.  57 

home  the  next  day,  quite  unmindful  of  the  tortures  his 
absence  had  inflicted  on  his  famil}- ;  and  the  happiness 
of  getting  him  back  proved  as  dangerous  an  excitement 
of  feeling  to  his  wife  as  her  fears  of  the  preceding 
night.  She  kept  silence  and  dared  not  question  him, 
for  when  she  did  so  on  the  occasion  of  his  first  absence, 
he  answered  with  an  air  of  surprise  :  — 

"  WeU,  what  of  it  ?      Can  I  not  take  a  walk  ?  " 

Passions  never  deceive.  Madame  Claes's  anxieties 
corroborated  the  rumors  she  had  taken  so  much  pains 
to  denj'.  The  experience  of  her  j'outh  had  taught  her 
to  understand  the  polite  pit}'  of  the  world.  Resolved 
not  to  undergo  it  a  second  time,  she  withdrew  more 
and  more  into  the  privacy  of  her  own  house,  now  de- 
serted by  societ}'  and  even  by  her  nearest  friends. 

Among  these  many  causes  of  distress,  the  negligence 
and  disorder  of  Balthazar's  dress,  so  degrading  to  a  man 
of  his  station,  was  not  the  least  bitter  to  a  woman  ac- 
customed to  the  exquisite  nicety  of  Flemish  life.  At 
first  Josephine  endeavored,  in  concert  with  Balthazar's 
valet,  Lemulquinier,  to  repair  the  daily  devastation  of 
his  clothing,  but  even  that  she  was  soon  forced  to  give 
up.  The  ver}'  da}-  when  Balthazar,  unaware  of  the  sub- 
stitution, put  on  new  clothes  in  place  of  those  that  were 
stained,  torn,  or  full  of  holes,  he  made  rags  of  them. 

The  poor  wife,  whose  perfect  happiness  had  lasted 
fifteen  years,  during  which  time  her  jealousy  had  never 


68  The  Alkahest. 

once  been  roused,  was  apparently  and  suddenly  nothing 
in  the  heart  where  she  had  lately  reigned.  Spanish  by 
race,  the  feelings  of  a  Spanish  woman  rose  within  her 
when  she  discovered  her  rival  in  a  Science  that  allured 
her  husband  from  her :  torments  of  jealousy  prej-ed 
upon  her  heart  and  renewed  her  love.  What  could  she 
do  against  Science?  Should  she  combat  that  tjTan- 
nous,  unj'ielding,  growing  power?  Could  she  kill  an 
invisible  rival?  Could  a  woman,  limited  hy  nature, 
contend  with  an  Idea  whose  delights  are  infinite,  whose 
attractions  are  ever  new  ?  How  make  head  against  the 
fascination  of  ideas  that  spring  the  fresher  and  the 
lovelier  out  of  difficulty,  and  entice  a  man  so  far  from 
this  world  that  he  forgets  even  his  dearest  loves  ? 

At  last  one  day,  in  spite  of  Balthazar's  strict  orders, 
Madame  Claes  resolved  to  follow  him,  to  shut  herself 
up  in  the  garret  where  his  life  was  spent,  and  struggle 
hand  to  hand  against  her  rival  by  sharing  her  hus- 
band's labors  during  the  long  hours  he  gave  to  that 
terrible  mistress.  She  determined  to  slip  secretly  into 
the  mysterious  laboratory  of  seduction,  and  obtain  the 
right  to  be  there  always.  Lemulquinier  alone  had  that 
right,  and  she  meant  to  share  it  with  him  ;  but  to  pre- 
vent his  witnessing  the  contention  with  her  husband 
which  she  feared  at  the  outset,  she  waited  for  an  oppor- 
tunity when  the  valet  should  be  out  of  the  way.  For  a 
while  she  studied  the  goings  and  comings  of  the  man 


The  Alkahest.  59 

with  angry  impatience  ;  did  he  not  know  that  which  was 
denied  to  her— all  that  her  husband  hid  from  bcr,  all 
that  she  dared  not  inquire  into  ?  Even  a  servant  was 
preferred  to  a  wife ! 

The  daj^  came ;  she  approached  the  place,  trembling, 
yet  almost  happy.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
encountered  Balthazar's  anger.  She  had  hardly  opened 
the  door  before  he  sprang  upon  her,  seized  her,  threw 
her  roughly  on  the  staircase,  so  that  she  narrowly 
escaped  rolling  to  the  bottom. 

"God  be  praised!  you  are  still  alive!"  he  cried, 
raising  her. 

A  glass  vessel  had  broken  into  fragments  over  Ma- 
dame Claes,  who  saw  her  husband  standing  by  her,  pale, 
terrified,  and  almost  livid. 

"  My  dear,  I  forbade  you  to  come  here,"  he  said,  sit- 
ting down  on  the  stairs,  as  though  prostrated.  "  The 
saints  have  saved  j^our  life !  By  what  chance  was  it 
that  my  ej'es  were  on  the  door  when  30U  opened  it? 
"We  have  just  escaped  death." 

"  Then  I  might  have  been  happy  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  My  experiment  has  failed,"  continued  Balthazar. 
"  You  alone  could  I  forgive  for  that  terrible  disappoint- 
ment. I  was  about  to  decompose  nitrogen.  Go  back 
to  your  own  affairs." 

Balthazar  re-entered  the  laboratory  and  closed  the 
door. 


60  The  Alkahest. 

"  Decompose  nitrogen ! "  said  the  poor  woman  as 
she  re-entered  her  chamber,  and  burst  into  tears. 

The  phrase  was  unintelligible  to  her.  Men,  trained 
b}'  education  to  have  a  general  conception  of  everything, 
have  no  idea  how  distressing  it  is  for  a  woman  to  be 
unable  to  comprehend  the  thought  of  the  man  she  loves. 
More  forbearing  than  we,  these  divine  creatures  do  not 
let  us  know  when  the  language  of  then-  souls  is  not 
understood  by  us  ;  they  shrink  from  letting  us  feel  the 
superiority  of  their  feelings,  and  hide  their  pain  as 
gladly  as  they  silence  their  wishes :  but,  having  higher 
ambitions  in  love  than  men,  they  desire  to  wed  not  only 
the  heart  of  a  husband,  but  his  mind. 

To  Madame  Claes  the  sense  of  knowing  nothing  of  a 
science  which  absorbed  her  husband  filled  her  with  a 
vexation  as  keen  as  the  beaut}'  of  a  rival  might  have 
caused.  The  struggle  of  woman  against  woman  gives 
to  her  who  loves  the  most  the  advantage  of  loving 
best ;  but  a  mortification  like  this  onl}"  proved  Madame 
Claes's  powerlessness  and  humiliated  the  feelings  by 
which  she  lived.  She  was  ignorant ;  and  she  had 
reached  a  point  where  her  ignorance  parted  her  from 
her  husband.  Worse  than  all,  last  and  keenest  torture, 
he  was  risking  his  Ufe,  he  was  often  in  danger  —  near 
her,  3"et  far  away,  and  she  might  not  share,  nor  even 
know,  his  peril.  Her  position  became,  like  hell,  a 
moral  prison  from  which  there  was  no  issue,  in  which 


The  Alkahest.  61 

there  was  no  hope.  Madame  Claes  resolved  to  know 
at  least  the  outward  attractions  of  this  fatal  science, 
and  she  began  secretly  to  stud}-  chemistry  in  the 
books.  From  this  time  the  family  became,  as  it  were, 
cloistered. 

Such  were  the  successive  changes  brought  by  this 
du-e  misfortune  upon  the  family  of  Claes,  before  it 
reached  the  species  of  atrophy  in  which  we  find  it  at 
the  moment  when  this  history-  begins. 

The  situation  grew  daily  more  complicated.  Like  all 
passionate  women,  Madame  Claes  was  disiuterestod. 
Those  who  trul}'  love  know  that  considerations  of 
mone^^  count  for  little  in  matters  of  feeling  and  are 
reluctantly  associated  with  them.  Nevertheless,  Jose- 
phine did  not  hear  without  distress  that  her  husband 
had  borrowed  three  hundred  thousand  francs  upon  his 
property.  The  apparent  authenticity  of  the  transac- 
tion, the  rumors  and  conjectures  spread  through  the 
town,  forced  Madame  Claes,  naturall}-  much  alarmed, 
to  question  her  husband's  notary  and,  disregarding 
her  pride,  to  reveal  to  him  her  secret  anxieties  or  let 
him  guess  them,  and  even  ask  her  the  humiliating 
question,  — 

"  How  is  it  that  Monsieur  Claes  has  not  told  you  of 
this?" 

Happily,  the  notary  was  almost  a  relation,  —  in  this 
wise  :  The  grandfather  of  Monsieur  Claes  had  married 


62  The  Alkahest 

a  Pierquin  of  Antwerp,  of  the  same  family  as  the 
Pierquins  of  Douai.  Since  the  marriage  the  latter, 
though  strangers  to  the  Claes,  claimed  them  as  cousins. 
Monsieur  Pierquin,  a  young  man  twenty-six  years  of 
age,  who  had  just  succeeded  to  his  father's  practice, 
was  the  only  person  who  now  had  access  to  the  House 
of  Claes. 

Madame  Balthazar  had  lived  for  several  months  in 
such  complete  solitude  that  the  notary  was  obliged  not 
only  to  confirm  the  rumor  of  the  disasters,  but  to  give 
her  further  particulars,  which  were  now  well  known 
throughout  the  town.  He  told  her  it  was  probable  that 
her  husband  owed  considerable  sums  of  money  to  the 
house  which  furnished  him  with  chemicals.  That  house, 
after  making  inquiries  as  to  the  fortune  and  credit  of 
Monsieur  Claes,  accepted  all  his  orders  and  sent  the 
supplies  without  hesitation,  notwithstanding  the  heavy 
sums  of  monej'  which  became  due.  Madame  Claes  re- 
quested Pierquin  to  obtain  the  bill  for  all  the  chemicals 
that  had  been  furnished  to  her  husband. 

Two  months  later,  Messieurs  Protez  and  Chiffre^^lle, 
manufacturers  of  chemical  products,  sent  in  a  schedule 
of  accounts  rendered,  which  amounted  to  over  one  hun- 
dred thousand  francs.  Madame  Claes  and  Pierquin 
studied  the  document  with  an  ever-increasing  surprise. 
Though  some  articles,  entered  in  commercial  and  sci- 
entific terms,  were  unintelligible   to  them,  they  were 


The  Alkahest.  $3 

frightened  to  see  entries  of  precious  metals  and  dia- 
monds of  all  kinds,  though  in  small  quantities.  The  lar^e 
sum  total  of  the  debt  was  explained  b}-  the  multiplicity 
of  articles,  b^-  the  precautions  needed  in  transixjrt- 
iug  some  of  them,  more  especiaUj-  valuable  matliinorv, 
by  the  exorbitant  price  of  certain  rare  chemicals,  and 
finall}'  by  the  cost  of  instruments  made  to  order  after 
the  designs  of  Monsieur  Claes  himself. 

The  notary  had  made  inquiries,  in  his  client's  inter- 
est, as  to  Messieurs  Protez  and  Chiffreville,  and  found 
that  theu-  known  integrity  was  sufficient  guarantee  as 
to  the  honesty  of  their  operations  with  Monsieur  Claiis, 
to  whom,  moreover,  they  frequently  sent  information  of 
results  obtained  by  chemists  in  Paris,  for  the  purpose 
of  sparing  him  expense.  Madame  Claes  begged  the 
notary  to  keep  the  nature  of  these  purchases  from  the 
knowledge  of  the  people  of  Douai,  lest  they  should  de- 
clare the  whole  thing  a  mania ;  but  Pierquin  replied 
that  he  had  akeady  delayed  to  the  ver}'  last  moment 
the  notarial  deeds  which  the  importance  of  the  sura 
borrowed  necessitated,  in  order  not  to  lessen  the  re- 
spect in  which  Monsieur  Claes  was  held.  He  then 
revealed  the  full  extent  of  the  evil,  telling  her  plaiuly 
that  if  she  could  not  find  means  to  prevent  her  hus- 
band from  thus  madl}^  making  way  with  his  property,  in 
six  months  the  patrimonial  fortune  of  the  Claes  would 
be  mortgaged  to  its  full  value.    As  for  himself,  he  said, 


64  The  Alkahest. 

the  remonstrances  he  had  alread}^  made  to  his  cousin, 
with  all  the  consideration  due  to  a  man  so  justly  re- 
spected, had  been  wholly  unavailing.  Balthazar  had 
replied,  once  for  all,  that  he  was  working  for  the  fame 
and  the  fortune  of  his  family. 

Thus,  to  the  tortures  of  the  heart  which  Madame 
Claes  had  borne  for  two  years  —  one  following  the  other 
with  cumulative  suffering  —  was  now  added  a  dreadful 
and  ceaseless  fear  which  made  the  future  terrifying. 
Women  have  presentiments  whose  accuracy  is  often  mar- 
vellous. Why  do  they  fear  so  much  more  than  the}-  hope 
in  matters  that  concern  the  interests  of  this  life  ?  Why 
is  their  faith  given  only  to  religious  ideas  of  a  future  ex- 
istence ?  Why  do  they  so  ably  foresee  the  catastrophes 
of  fortune  and  the  crises  of  fate  ?  Perhaps  the  sentiment 
which  unites  them  to  the  men  they  love  gives  them  a 
sense  by  which  they  weigh  force,  measure  faculties, 
understand  tastes,  passions,  vices,  virtues.  The  per- 
petual stud}'  of  these  causes  in  the  midst  of  which  they 
live  gives  them,  no  doubt,  the  fatal  power  of  foreseeing 
effects  in  all  possible  relations  of  earthly  life.  What  they 
see  of  the  present  enables  them  to  judge  of  the  future 
with  an  intuitive  ability  explained  by  the  perfection  of 
their  nervous  system,  which  allows  them  to  seize  the 
lightest  indications  of  thought  and  feeling.  Their  whole 
being  vibrates  in  communion  with  great  moral  convul- 
sions.    Either  they  feel,  or  they  see. 


The  Alkahest.  85 

Now,  although  separated  from  her  husband  for  over 
two  years,  Madame  Claiis  foresaw  the  loss  of  their  prop- 
erty'. She  full}-  understood  the  deliberate  ardor,  the  well- 
considered,  inalterable  steadfastness  of  Balthazar ;  if  it 
were  indeed  true  that  he  was  seeking  to  make  gold,  he 
was  capable  of  throwing  his  last  crust  into  the  crucible 
with  absolute  indifference.  But  what  was  he  reall}-  seek- 
ing? Up  to  this  time  maternal  fecHng  and  conjugal 
love  had  been  so  mingled  in  the  heart  of  this  woman 
that  the  children,  equall}-  beloved  by  husband  and  wife, 
had  never  come  between  them.  Suddenly  she  found 
herself  at  times  more  mother  than  wife,  though  hitherto 
she  had  been  more  wife  than  mother.  However  ready 
she  had  been  to  sacrifice  her  fortune  and  even  her  chil- 
dren to  the  man  who  had  chosen  her,  loved  her,  adored 
her,  and  to  whom  she  was  still  the  only  woman  in  the 
world,  the  remorse  she  felt  for  the  weakness  of  her  ma- 
ternal love  threw  her  into  terrible  alternations  of  feel- 
ing. As  a  wife,  she  suffered  in  heart ;  as  a  mother, 
through  her  children  ;  as  a  Christian,  for  all. 

She  kept  silence,  and  hid  the  cruel  struggle  in  her 
soul.  Her  husband,  sole  arbiter  of  the  family  fate,  was 
the  master  by  whose  wiU  it  must  be  guided  ;  he  was  re- 
sponsible to  God  only.  Besides,  could  she  reproach 
him  for  the  use  he  now  made  of  his  fortune,  after  the 
disinterestedness  he  had  shown  to  her  for  many  happy 

years?    Was  she  to  judge  his  purposes?    And  yet  her 

5 


66  The  Alkahest. 

conscience,  in  keeping  with  the  spirit  of  the  law,  told 
her  that  parents  were  the  depositaries  and  guardians  of 
property,  and  possessed  no  right  to  alienate  the  material 
welfare  of  the  children.  To  escape  replying  to  such 
stern  questions  she  preferred  to  shut  her  eyes,  like  one 
who  refuses  to  see  the  abj'ss  into  whose  depths  he 
knows  he  is  about  to  fall. 

For  more  than  six  months  her  husband  had  given  her 
no  money  for  the  household  expenses.  She  sold  secret- 
ly, in  Paris,  the  handsome  diamond  ornaments  her 
brother  had  given  her  on  her  marriage,  and  placed 
the  famil}'  on  a  footing  of  the  strictest  econom}'.  She 
sent  away  the  governess  of  her  children,  and  even  the 
nurse  of  little  Jean.  Formerly  the  luxury  of  carriages 
and  horses  was  unknown  among  the  burgher  families, 
so  simple  were  they  in  their  habits,  so  proud  in  their 
feelings ;  no  provision  for  that  modern  innovation  had 
therefore  been  made  at  the  House  of  Claes,  and  Bal- 
thazar was  obliged  to  have  his  stable  and  coachhouse 
in  a  building  opposite  to  his  own  house :  his  present 
occupations  allowed  him  no  time  to  superintend  that 
portion  of  his  establishment,  which  belongs  exclusively 
to  men.  Madame  Claes  suppressed  the  whole  expense 
of  equipages  and  servants,  which  her  present  isolation 
from  the  world  rendered  unnecessary,  and  she  did  so 
without  pretending  to  conceal  the  retrenchment  under 
any    pretext.      So    far,   facts    had    contradicted    her 


The  Alkahest.  67 

assertions,  and  silence  for  the  future  was  more  Wcom- 
ing :  indeed  tlie  change  in  the  family  mode  of  living 
called  for  no  explanation  in  a  countrj-  where,  as  in 
Flanders,  any  one  who  lives  up  to  his  income  is  con- 
sidered a  madman. 

And  yet,  as  her  eldest  daughter,  Marguerite,  ap- 
proached her  sixteenth  birthday,  Madame  Claiis  longed 
to  procure  for  her  a  good  marriage,  and  to  place  her  in 
society  in  a  manner  suitable  to  a  daughter  of  the  Moli- 
nas,  the  Van  Ostrom-Temnincks,  and  the  Casa-R^'als. 
A  few  days  before  the  one  on  which  this  story  opens, 
the  money  derived  from  the  sale  of  the  diamonds  had 
been  exhausted.  On  the  verj''  day,  at  three  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  as  Madame  Claes  was  taking  her  children 
to  vespers,  she  met  Pierquin,  who  was  on  his  way  to 
see  her,  and  who  turned  and  accompanied  her  to  the 
church,  talking  in  a  low  voice  of  her  situation. 

"My  dear  cousin,"  he  said,  "unless  I  fail  in  the 
friendship  which  binds  me  to  your  family,  I  cannot  con- 
ceal from  you  the  peril  of  your  position,  or  refrain  from 
begging  you  to  speak  to  j'our  husband.  Who  but  you 
can  hold  him  back  from  the  gulf  into  which  he  is 
plunging?  The  rents  from  the  mortgaged  estates  are 
not  enough  to  pay  the  interest  on  the  sums  he  has  bor- 
rowed. If  he  cuts  the  wood  on  them  he  destroys  your 
last  chance  of  safety  in  the  future.  My  cousin  Baltha- 
zar owes  at  this  moment  thirty  thousand  francs  to  the 


68  The  Alkahest. 

house  of  Protez  and  Chiffreville.  How  can  you  pay 
them?  What  will  3'ou  live  on?  If  Claes  persists  in 
sending  for  reagents,  retorts,  voltaic  batteries,  and 
other  such  playthings,  what  will  become  of  you  ?  Your 
whole  property,  except  the  house  and  furniture,  has  been 
dissipated  in  gas  and  carbon ;  yesterday  he  talked  of 
mortgaging  the  house,  and  in  answer  to  a  remark  of 
mine,  he  cried  out,  '  The  devil ! '  It  was  the  first  sign 
of  reason  I  have  known  him  show  for  three  years." 

Madame  Claes  pressed  the  notary's  arm,  and  said  in 
a  tone  of  suffering,  ' '  Keep  it  secret." 

Overwhelmed  by  these  plain  words  of  startling  clear- 
ness, the  poor  woman,  pious  as  she  was,  could  not 
pray ;  she  sat  still  on  her  chair  between  her  children, 
with  her  prayer-book  open,  but  not  turning  its  leaves  ; 
her  mind  was  sunk  in  meditations  as  absorbing  as  those 
of  her  husband.  The  Spanish  sense  of  honor,  the 
Flemish  integrit}',  resounded  in  her  soul  with  a  peal 
louder  than  any  organ.  The  ruin  of  her  children  was 
accomplished  !  Between  them  and  their  father's  honor 
she  must  no  longer  hesitate.  The  necessity  of  a  com- 
ing struggle  with  her  husband  terrified  her  ;  in  her  eyes 
he  was  so  great,  so  majestic,  that  the  mere  prospect  of 
his  anger  made  her  tremble  as  at  a  vision  of  the  divine 
wrath.  She  must  now  depart  from  the  submission  she 
bad  sacredl}^  practised  as  a  wife.  The  interests  of  her 
children  compelled  her  to  oppose,  in  his  most  cherished 


The  Alkahest.  69 

tastes,  the  man  she  idolized.  Must  she  not  daily  fort-e 
him  back  to  common  matters  from  the  higher  realms  of 
Science ;  drag  him  forcibly  from  a  smiling  future  and 
plunge  him  into  a  materiaUsm  hideous  to  artists  and 
great  men?  To  her,  Balthazar  Claes  was  a  Titan  of 
science,  a  man  big  with  glory ;  he  could  only  have  for- 
gotten  her  for  the  riches  of  a  mighty  hope.  Then  too, 
was  he  not  profoundly  wise?  she  had  heard  him  tilk 
with  such  good  sense  on  every  subject  that  he  must  be 
sincere  when  he  declared  he  worked  for  the  glory  and 
prosperity  of  his  family.  His  love  for  his  wife  and 
family  was  not  only  vast,  it  was  infinite.  That  feeling 
could  not  be  extinct ;  it  was  magnified,  and  reproduced 
in  another  form. 

Noble,  generous,  timid  as  she  was,  she  prepared  her- 
self to  ring  into  the  ears  of  this  noble  man  the  word  and 
the  sound  of  mone}',  to  show  him  the  sores  of  poverty, 
and  force  him  to  hear  cries  of  distress  when  he  was 
listening  only  for  the  melodious  voice  of  Fame.  Per- 
haps his  love  for  her  would  lessen  !  If  she  had  had  no 
children,  she  would  bravely  and  joj'ously  have  welcomed 
the  new  destin}'  her  husband  was  making  for  her. 
Women  who  are  brought  up  in  opulence  are  quick  to 
feel  the  emptiness  of  material  enjoyments;  and  when 
their  hearts,  more  wearied  than  withered,  have  once 
learned  the  happiness  of  a  constant  interchange  of  real 
feelings,  they  feel  no  shrinking  from  reduced  outward 


70  The  Alkahest. 

circumstances,  provided  they  are  still  acceptable  to  the 
man  who  has  loved  them.  Their  wishes,  their  pleasures, 
are  subordinated  to  the  caprices  of  that  other  life  out- 
side of  their  own ;  to  them  the  only  dreadful  future  is 
to  lose  him. 

At  this  moment,  therefore,  her  children  came  between 
Pepita  and  her  true  life,  just  as  Science  had  come  be- 
tween herself  and  Balthazar.  And  thus,  when  she 
reached  home  after  vespers,  and  threw  herself  into  the 
deep  armchair  before  the  window  of  the  parlor,  she  sent 
away  her  children,  directing  them  to  keep  perfectly- 
quiet,  and  despatched  a  message  to  her  husband, 
through  Lemulquinier,  saying  that  she  wished  to  see 
him.  But  although  the  old  valet  did  his  best  to  make  his 
master  leave  the  laboratory,  Balthazar  scarcel}'  heeded 
him.  Madame  Claes  thus  gained  time  for  reflection. 
She  sat  thinking,  paying  no  attention  to  the  hour  nor 
the  light.  The  thought  of  owing  thirt}-  thousand  francs 
that  could  not  be  paid  renewed  her  past  anguish  and 
joined  it  to  that  of  the  present  and  the  future.  This 
influx  of  painful  interests,  ideas,  and  feelings  overcame 
her,  and  she  wept. 

As  Balthazar  entered  at  last  through  the  panelled 
door,  the  expression  of  his  face  seemed  to  her  more 
dreadful,  more  absorbed,  more  distracted  than  she  had 
yet  seen  it.  When  he  made  her  no  answer  she  was 
magnetized  for  a  moment  by  the  fixity  of  that  blank 


The  Alkahest.  71 

look  emptied  of  all  expression,  b}-  the  consuming  ideas 
that  issued  as  if  distilled  from  that  bald  brow.  Under 
the  shock  of  this  impression  she  wished  to  die.  But 
when  she  heard  the  callous  voice,  uttering  a  scientific 
wish  at  the  moment  when  her  heart  was  breaking',  her 
courage  came  back  to  her;  she  resolved  to  struggle 
with  that  awful  power  which  had  torn  a  lover  from  her 
arms,  a  father  from  her  children,  a  fortune  from  their 
home,  happiness  from  all.  And  yet  she  could  not  re- 
press a  trepidation  which  made  her  quiver ;  in  all  her 
life  no  such  solemn  scene  as  this  had  taken  place.  This 
dreadful  moment  —  did  it  not  virtually  contain  her 
future,  and  gather  within  it  all  the  past? 

"Weak  and  timid  persons,  or  those  whose  excessive 
sensibility  magnifies  the  smallest  difficulties  of  life, 
men  who  tremble  involuntarily  before  the  masters  of 
their  fate,  can  now,  one  and  all,  conceive  the  rush  of 
thoughts  that  crowded  into  the  brain  of  this  woman, 
and  the  feelings  under  the  weight  of  which  her  heart 
was  crushed  as  her  husband  slowly  crossed  the  room 
towards  the  garden-door.  Most  women  know  that 
agony  of  inward  deliberation  in  which  Madame  Claes 
was  writhing.  Even  one  whose  heart  has  been  tried 
by  nothing  worse  than  the  declaration  to  a  husband  of 
some  extravagance,  or  a  debt  to  a  dress-maker,  will 
understand  how  its  pulses  swell  and  quicken  when  the 
matter  is  one  of  life  itself. 


72  The  Alkahest. 

A  beautiful  or  graceful  woman  might  have  thrown  her- 
self at  her  husband's  feet,  might  have  called  to  her  aid 
the  attitudes  of  grief;  but  to  Madame  Claes  the  sense 
of  phj'sical  defects  onl}'  added  to  her  fears.  When  she 
saw  Balthazar  about  to  leave  the  room,  her  impulse 
was  to  spring  towards  him ;  then  a  cruel  thought  re- 
strained her  —  she  should  stand  before  him !  would 
she  not  seem  ridiculous  in  the  ej'es  of  a  man  no  longer 
under  the  glamour  of  love  —  who  might  see  true  ? 
She  resolved  to  avoid  all  dangerous  chances  at  so 
solemn  a  moment,  and  remained  seated,  sa3'ing  in  a 
clear  voice, 

"  Balthazar." 

He  turned  mechanically  and  coughed ;  then,  paying 
no  attention  to  his  wife,  he  walked  to  one  of  the  little 
square  boxes  that  are  placed  at  intervals  along  the 
wainscoting  of  every  room  in  Holland  and  Belgium, 
and  spat  in  it.  This  man,  who  took  no  thought  of 
other  persons,  never  forgot  the  inveterate  habit  of  using 
those  boxes.  To  poor  Josephine,  unable  to  find  a  rea- 
son for  this  singularity,  the  constant  care  which  her 
husband  took  of  the  furniture  caused  her  at  all  times 
an  unspeakable  pang,  but  at  this  moment  the  pain  was 
so  violent  that  it  put  her  beside  herself  and  made  her 
exclaim  in  a  tone  of  impatience,  which  expressed  her 
wounded  feelings,  — 

"  Monsieur,  I  am  speaking  to  you !  " 


The  Alkahest.  73 

"  What  does  that  mean?  "  answered  Balthazar,  turn- 
ing quickl}-,  and  casting  a  look  of  reviving  inU'lligence 
upon  his  wife,  which  fell  upon  her  like  a  thunderbolt. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  friend,"  she  said,  turning  pale. 
She  tried  to  rise  and  put  out  her  hand  to  him,  but  her 
strength  gave  way  and  she  fell  back.  "  I  am  dvin«' :  " 
she  cried  in  a  voice  choked  b}-  sobs. 

At  the  sight  Balthazar  had,  hke  all  abstracted  per- 
sons, a  vivid  reaction  of  mind  ;  and  he  divined,  so  to 
speak,  the  secret  cause  of  this  attack.  Taking  Madame 
Claes  at  once  in  his  arms,  he  opened  the  door  upon  the 
little  antechamber,  and  ran  so  rapidly  up  the  ancient 
wooden  staircase  that  his  wife's  dress  having  caught  on 
the  jaws  of  one  of  the  griffins  that  supported  the  balus- 
trade, a  whole  breadth  was  torn  off  with  a  loud  noise. 
He  kicked  in  the  door  of  the  vestibule  between  their 
chambers,  but  the  door  of  Josephine's  bedroom  was 
locked. 

He  gently  placed  her  on  a  chair,  saying  to  himself, 
"  My  God  !  the  key,  where  is  the  key?  " 

"  Thank  you,  dear  friend,"  said  Madame  Claiis, 
opening  her  eyes.  ' '  This  is  the  first  time  for  a  long, 
long  while  that  I  have  been  so  near  your  heart." 

"  Good  God  !  "  cried  Claes,  "  the  key  !  — here  come 
the  servants." 

Josephine  signed  to  him  to  take  a  key  that  hnug 
from  a  ribbon  at  her  waist.    After  opening  the  door, 


74  The  Alkahest. 

Balthazar  laid  his  wife  on  a  sofa,  and  left  the  room  to 
stop  the  frightened  servants  from  coming  up  by  giving 
them  orders  to  serve  the  dinner ;  he  then  went  back  to 
Madame  Claes. 

"What  is  it,  m}^  dear  life?"  he  said,  sitting  down 
beside  her,  and  taking  her  hand  and  kissing  it. 

"Nothing  —  now,"  she  answered.  "I  sufler  no 
longer.  Onl}-,  I  would  I  had  the  power  of  God  to  pour 
all  the  gold  of  the  world  at  th}'  feet." 

"Why  gold?"  he  asked.  He  took  her  in  his  arms, 
pressed  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  once  more  upon  the 
forehead.  "  Do  you  not  give  me  the  greatest  of  all 
riches  in  loving  me  as  jon  do  love  me,  my  dear  and 
precious  wife?" 

"  Oh !  m}'  Balthazar,  will  3'ou  not  drive  away  the 
anguish  of  our  lives  as  your  voice  now  drives  out  the 
misery  of  xny  heart?  At  last,  at  last,  I  see  that  3'Ou 
are  still  the  same." 

"  What  anguish  do  you  speak  of,  dear?" 

"  My  friend,  we  are  ruined." 

"Ruined!"  he  repeated.  Then,  with  a  smile,  he 
stroked  her  hand,  holding  it  within  his  own,  and  said 
in  his  tender  voice,  so  long  unheard:  "To-morrow, 
dear  love,  our  wealth  ma}'  perhaps  be  limitless.  Yester- 
da}',  in  searching  for  a  far  more  important  secret,  I 
think  I  found  the  means  of  crystallizing  carbon,  the  sub- 
stance of  the  diamond.     Oh,  my  dear  wife !  in  a  few 


The  Alkahest.  jg 

days'  time  you  will  forgive  me  aU  my  forgetfulness  —  I 
am  forgetful  sometimes,  am  I  not?  Was  I  not  harsh  to 
you  just  now  ?  Be  indulgent  for  a  man  who  never  ceases 
to  think  of  you,  whose  toils  are  fuU  of  you  —  of  us." 

"  Enough,  enough  !  "  she  said,  "  let  us  talk  of  it  all 
to-night,  dear  friend.  I  suffered  from  too  much  grief, 
and  now  I  suffer  from  too  much  joy." 

"To-night,"  he  resumed;  "yes,  willingly:  we  will 
talk  of  it.  K I  fall  into  meditation,  remind  me  of  this 
promise.  To-night  I  desire  to  leave  my  work,  my  re- 
searches, and  return  to  family  joys,  to  the  delights  of 
the  heart  —  Pepita,  I  need  them,  I  thirst  for  them  !  " 

"  You  will  tell  me  what  it  is  you  seek,  Balthazar? " 

"  Poor  child,  you  cannot  understand  it." 

"  You  think  so?  Ah  !  my  friend,  listen  ;  for  nearly 
four  months  I  have  studied  chemistry  that  I  might  talk 
of  it  with  you.  I  have  read  Fourcroy,  Lavoisier,  Chap- 
tal,  NoUet,  RoueUe,  Berthollet,  Gay-Lussac,  SpaUan- 
zani,  Leuwenhoek,  Galvani,  Volta,  —  in  fact,  all  the 
books  about  the  science  you  worship.  You  can  tell  me 
your  secrets,  I  shall  understand  you." 

"Oh!  you  are  indeed  an  angel,"  cried  Balthazar, 
falling  at  her  feet,  and  shedding  tears  of  tender  feeling 
that  made  her  quiver.  "  Yes,  we  will  understand  each 
other  in  all  things." 

"  Ah  !  "  she  cried,  "  I  would  throw  myself  into  those 
hellish  fires  which   heat  j'our   furnaces   to  hear  these 


76  Tlie  Alkahest. 

words  from  your  lips  and  to  see  you  thus."  Then, 
hearing  her  daughter's  step  in  the  anteroom,  she  sprang 
quickly  forward.  "What  is  it,  Marguerite?"  she  said 
to  her  eldest  daughter. 

"  My  dear  mother.  Monsieur  Pierquin  has  just  come. 
If  he  sta3's  to  dinner  we  need  some  table-linen ;  you 
forgot  to  give  it  out  this  morning." 

Madame  Claes  drew  from  her  pocket  a  bunch  of  small 
keys  and  gave  them  to  the  3'oung  girl,  pointing  to  the  ma- 
hogany closets  which  lined  the  ante-chamber  as  she  said : 

"  My  daughter,  take  a  set  of  the  Graindorge  linen ; 
it  is  on  your  right." 

"  Since  my  dear  Balthazar  comes  back  to  me,  let  the 
return  be  complete,"  she  said,  re-entering  her  chamber 
with  a  soft  and  arch  expression  upon  her  face.  "  My 
friend,  go  into  your  own  room  ;  do  me  the  kindness  to 
dress  for  dinner,  Pierquin  will  be  with  us.  Come,  take 
off  this  ragged  clothing  ;  see  those  stains  !  Is  it  muri- 
atic or  sulphuric  acid  which  left  these  yellow  edges  to 
the  holes?  Make  yourself  young  again, — I  will  send 
you  Mulquinier  as  soon  as  I  have  changed  my  dress." 

Balthazar  attempted  to  pass  through  the  door  of 
communication,  forgetting  that  it  was  locked  on  his 
side.     He  went  out  through  the  anteroom. 

"Marguerite,  put  the  linen  on  a  chair,  and  come 
and  help  me  dress ;  I  don't  want  Martha,"  said  Ma- 
dame Claes,  calling  her  daughter. 


The  Alkahest.  77 

Balthazar  had  caught  Marguerite  and  tumetl  her 
towards  him  with  a  joyous  action,  exclaiming  :  "  Good- 
evening,  my  child ;  how  pretty  you  are  in  your  musHn 
gown  and  that  pink  sash  !  "  Then  he  kissed  her  forehead 
and  pressed  her  hand. 

"Mamma,  papa  has  kissed  me  !  "  cried  Marguerite, 
running  into  her  mother's  room.  ' '  He  seems  so  joyous, 
80  happy ! " 

"My  child,  your  father  is  a  great  man;  for  three 
years  he  has  toiled  for  the  fame  and  fortune  of  his 
family:  he  thinks  he  has  attained  the  object  of  his 
search.     This  day  is  a  festival  for  us  all." 

"My  dear  mamma,"  rephed  Marguerite,  "we  shall 
not  be  alone  in  our  joy,  for  the  servants  have  been  so 
grieved  to  see  him  unlike  himself.  Oh  !  put  on  another 
sash,  this  is  faded." 

"  So  be  it ;  but  make  haste,  I  want  to  speak  to  Pier- 
quin.     Where  is  he  ?" 

"  In  the  parlor,  playing  with  Jean." 

"  Where  are  Gabriel  and  FeUcie?" 

"  I  hear  them  in  the  garden." 

"Run  down  quickly  and  see  that  they  do  not  pick 
the  tulips  ;  your  father  has  not  seen  them  in  flower  tliis 
year,  and  he  may  take  a  fancy  to  look  at  them  after 
dinner.  Tell  Mulquinier  to  go  up  and  assist  your 
father  in  dressing." 


78  The  Alkahest, 


V. 


As  Marguerite  left  the  room,  Madame  Claes  glanced 
at  the  children  through  the  windows  of  her  chamber, 
which  looked  on  the  garden,  and  saw  that  they  were 
watching  one  of  those  insects  with  shining  wings  spotted 
with  gold,  commonly  called  "  darning-needles." 

"  Be  good,  my  darlings,"  she  said,  raising  the  lower 
sash  of  the  window  and  leaving  it  up  to  air  the  room. 
Then  she  knocked  gently  on  the  door  of  communication, 
to  assure  herself  that  Balthazar  had  not  fallen  into  ab- 
straction. He  opened  it,  and  seeing  him  half-dressed, 
she  said  in  joyous  tones  :  — 

"  You  won't  leave  me  long  with  Pierquin,  will  you? 
Come  as  soon  as  you  can." 

Her  step  was  so  light  as  she  descended  that  a  listener 
would  never  have  supposed  her  lame. 

"  When  monsieur  carried  madame  upstairs,"  said 
the  old  valet,  whom  she  met  on  the  staircase,  "he 
tore  this  bit  out  of  her  dress,  and  he  broke  the  jaw  of 
that  griffin ;  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  who  can  put  it 
on  again.  There 'sour  staircase  ruined  —  and  it  used 
to  be  so  handsome  ! " 


The  Alkahest.  79 

"Never  mind,  my  poor  Mulquiuier;  don't  have  it 
mended  at  aU  — it  is  not  a  misfortune,"  said  hia 
mistress. 

"  What  can  have  happened?"  thought  Lemulquinier ; 
*'  why  isn't  it  a  misfortune,  I  should  like  to  know?  has 
the  master  found  the  Absolute  ?  " 

"Good-evening,  Monsieur  Pierquin,"  said  Madame 
Claes,  opening  the  parlor  door. 

The  notary  rushed  forward  to  give  her  his  arm ;  as 
she  never  took  any  but  that  of  her  husband  she  thanked 
him  with  a  smile  and  said,  — 

"  Have  you  come  for  the  thirty  thousand  francs? " 

"  Yes,  madame ;  when  I  reached  home  I  found  a  let- 
ter of  advice  from  Messieurs  Protez  and  ChifTreville, 
who  have  drawn  six  letters  of  exchange  upon  Monsieur 
Claes  for  five  thousand  francs  each." 

"  Well,  say  nothing  to  Balthazar  to-day,"  she  replied. 
"  Stay  and  dine  with  us.  If  he  happens  to  ask  why 
you  came,  find  some  plausible  pretext,  I  entreat  you. 
Give  me  the  letter,  I  will  speak  to  him  myself  about 
it.  All  is  well,"  she  added,  noticing  the  lawyer's  sur- 
prise. "  In  a  few  months  my  husband  will  probably 
pay  off  all  the  sums  he  has  borrowed." 

Hearing  these  words,  which  were  said  in  a  low  voice, 
the  notary  looked  at  Mademoiselle  Claes,  who  was 
entering  the  room  from  the  garden  followed  by  Gabriel 
and  Felicie,  and  remarked,  — 


80  The  Alkahest. 

"  I  have  never  seen  Mademoiselle  Marguerite  as 
pretty  as  she  is  at  this  moment." 

Madame  Claes,  who  was  sitting  in  her  armchair  with 
little  Jean  upon  her  lap,  raised  her  head  and  looked  at 
her  daughter,  and  then  at  the  notary,  with  a  pretended 
air  of  indifference. 

Pierquin  was  a  man  of  middle  height,  neither  stout 
nor  thin,  with  vulgar  good  looks,  a  face  that  expressed 
vexation  rather  than  melancholy,  and  a  pensive  habit  in 
which  there  was  more  of  indecision  than  thought.  Peo- 
ple called  him  a  misanthrope,  but  he  was  too  eager  after 
his  own  interests,  and  too  extortionate  towards  others 
to  have  set  up  a  genuine  divorce  from  the  world.  His 
indifferent  demeanor,  his  affected  silence,  his  habitual 
custom  of  looking,  as  it  were,  into  the  void,  seemed  to 
indicate  depth  of  character,  while  in  fact  they  merely 
concealed  the  shallow  insignificance  of  a  notary  busied 
exclusively  with  earthly  interests ;  though  he  was  still 
young  enough  to  feel  envy.  To  maiTy  into  the  family 
of  Claes  would  have  been  to  him  an  object  of  extreme 
desire,  if  an  instinct  of  avarice  had  not  underlain  it. 
He  could  seem  generous,  but  for  all  that  he  was  a  keen 
reckoner.  And  thus,  without  explaining  to  himself  the 
motive  for  his  change  of  manner,  his  behavior  was 
harsh,  peremptory,  and  surly,  like  that  of  an  ordinary 
business  man,  when  he  thought  the  Claes  were  ruined ; 
accommodating,  affectionate,  and  almost  servile,  when 


The  Alkahest.  gj 

he  saw  reason  to  believe  in  a  happy  issue  to  his  cousin's 
labors.  Sometimes  he  beheld  an  infanta  in  Marguerite 
Claes,  to  whom  no  provincial  notarv  might  aspire  ;  then 
he  regarded  her  as  any  poor  girl  too  happy  if  he 
deigned  to  make  her  his  wife.  He  was  a  true  pro\in- 
cial,  and  a  Fleming ;  without  malevolence,  not  devoid 
of  devotion  and  kindheartedness,  but  led  by  a  naive 
selfishness  which  rendered  all  his  better  qualities  incom- 
plete, while  certain  absurdities  of  manner  spoiled  his 
personal  appearance. 

Madame  Claes  recollected  the  curt  tone  in  which  the 
notary  had  spoken  to  her  that  afternoon  in  the  porch  of 
the  church,  and  she  took  note  of  the  change  which  her 
present  reply  had  wrought  in  his  demeanor ;  she  guessed 
its  meaning  and  tried  to  read  her  daughter's  mind  by 
a  penetrating  glance,  seeking  to  discover  if  she  thought 
of  her  cousin ;  but  the  young  girl's  manner  showed 
complete  indifference. 

After  a  few  moments  spent  in  general  conversation 
on  the  current  topics  of  the  day,  the  master  of  the  house 
came  down  from  his  bedroom,  where  his  wife  had  heard 
with  inexpressible  delight  the  creaking  sound  of  his 
boots  as  he  trod  the  floor.  The  step  was  that  of  a  young 
and  active  man,  and  foretold  so  complete  a  transfor- 
mation, that  the  mere  expectation  of  his  appoaranc-e 
made  Madame  Claes  quiver  as  he  descended  the  stairs. 

Balthazar  entered,  dressed  in  the  fashion  of  the  period 

6 


82  The  Alkahest. 

He  wore  highly  polished  top-boots,  which  allowed  the 
upper  part  of  the  white  silk  stockings  to  appear,  blue 
kerseymere  small-clothes  with  gold  buttons,  a  flowered 
white  waistcoat,  and  a  blue  frock-coat.  He  had  trimmed 
his  beard,  combed  and  perfumed  his  hair,  pared  his 
nails,  and  washed'  his  hands,  all  with  such  care  that  he 
was  scarcely  recognizable  to  those  who  had  seen  him 
latel3\  Instead  of  an  old  man  almost  decrepit,  his 
children,  his  wife,  and  the  notary  saw  a  Balthazar 
Claes  who  was  forty  years  old,  and  whose  courteous  and 
affable  presence  was  full  of  its  former  attractions.  The 
weariness  and  suffering  betraj^ed  by  the  thin  face  and 
the  clinging  of  the  skin  to  the  bones,  had  in  themselves 
a  sort  of  charm. 

"  Good-evening,  Pierquin,"  said  Monsieur  Claes. 

Once  more  a  husband  and  a  father,  he  took  his 
3'oungest  child  from  his  wife's  lap  and  tossed  him  in 
the  air. 

"  See  that  little  fellow  !  "  he  exclaimed  to  the  notary. 
"Doesn't  such  a  pretty  creature  make  you  long  to 
marry?  Take  my  word  for  it,  my  dear  Pierquin,  famil}- 
happiness  consoles  a  man  for  everj^thing.  Up,  up !  " 
he  cried,  tossing  Jean  in  the  air;  "down,  down!  up  T 
down ! " 

The  child  laughed  with  all  his  heart  as  he  went  alter- 
nately to  the  ceiling  and  down  to  the  carj^et.  The 
mother  turned  away  her  eyes  that  she  might  not  betray 


The  Alkahest.  g3 

the  emotion  which  the  simple  plaj  caused  her,  —  shuple 
apparent!}-,  but  to  her  a  domestic  revolution. 

"Let  me  see  how  you  can  walk,"  said  Balthazar, 
putting  his  son  on  the  floor  and  throwing  himself  ou  :i 
sofa  near  his  wife. 

The  child  ran  to  its  father,  attracted  by  the  glitu^r 
of  the  gold  buttons  which  fastened  the  breeches  just 
above  the  slashed  tops  of  his  boots. 

"  You  are  a  darling !  "  cried  Balthazar,  kissing  him  ; 
"  you  are  a  Claes,  you  walk  straight.  Well,  Gabriel, 
how  is  Pere  Morillon?  "  he  said  to  his  eldest  son,  tak- 
ing him  by  the  ear  and  twisting  it.  "Are  you  strug- 
gling valiantly  with  your  themes  and  your  construing? 
have  3'ou  taken  sharp  hold  of  mathematics?" 

Then  he  rose,  and  went  up  to  the  notary  with  the 
affectionate  courtesy  that  characterized  him. 

"  My  dear  Pierquin,"  he  said,  "  perhaps  you  have 
something  to  sa}'  to  me."  He  took  his  arm  to  lead 
him  to  the  garden,  adding,  "  Come  and  see  my 
tulips." 

Madame  Claes  looked  at  her  husband  as  he  left  the 
room,  unable  to  repress  the  joy  she  felt  in  seeing  him 
once  more  so  young,  so  affable,  so  truly  himself.  She 
rose,  took  her  daughter  round  the  waist  and  kissed  her, 
exclaiming :  — 

"  My  dear  Marguerite,  my  darUng  child  !  I  love  you 
better  than  ever  to-day." 


84  The  Alkahest. 

"It  is  long  since  I  have  seen  my  father  so  kind/* 
answered  the  young  girl. 

Lemulquinier  announced  dinner.  To  prevent  Pier- 
quin  from  offering  her  his  arm,  Madame  Claes  took  that 
of  her  husband  and  led  the  way  into  the  nest  room,  the 
whole  family  following. 

The  dining-room,  whose  ceiling  was  supported  by 
beams  and  decorated  with  paintings  cleaned  and  re- 
stored every  year,  was  furnished  with  tall  oaken  side- 
boards and  buffets,  on  whose  shelves  stood  many  a 
curious  piece  of  family  china.  The  walls  were  hung 
with  violet  leather,  on  which  designs  of  game  and 
other  hunting  objects  were  stamped  in  gold.  Carefully 
arranged  here  and  there  above  the  shelves,  shone  the 
brilliant  plumage  of  strange  birds,  and  the  lustre  of  rare 
shells.  The  chairs,  which  evidently  had  not  been 
changed  since  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  centur}', 
showed  the  square  shape  with  twisted  columns  and  the 
low  back  covered  with  a  fringed  stuff,  common  to  that 
period,  and  glorified  by  Raphael  in  his  picture  of  the 
Madonna  della  Sedia.  The  wood  of  these  chairs  was 
now  black,  but  the  gilt  nails  shone  as  if  new,  and  the 
stuff,  carefully  renewed  from  time  to  time,  was  of  an 
admirable  shade  of  red. 

The  whole  life  of  Flanders  with  its  Spanish  innova- 
tions was  in  this  room.  The  decanters  and  flasks  on 
the  dinner-table,  with  their  graceful  antique  lines  and 


The  Alkahett.  ^5 

swelling  curves,  had  an  air  of  respectabUity.  Tho 
glasses  were  those  old  goblets  with  stems  and  feet 
which  ma}^  be  seen  in  the  pictures  of  the  Dutch  or 
Flemish  school.  The  dinner-senice  of  faience,  deco- 
rated with  raised  colored  figures,  in  the  manner  of  Ber- 
nard Palissj,  came  from  the  English  manufactory  of 
Wedgwood.  The  sUver-ware  was  massive,  wiUi  square 
sides  and  designs  in  high  relief,  —  genuine  family  plate, 
whose  pieces,  in  every  variety  of  form,  fashion,  and  chas- 
ing, showed  the  beginnings  of  prosperity  and  the  progress 
towards  fortune  of  the  Claes  family.  The  napkins  were 
fringed,  a  fashion  altogether  Spanish;  and  as  for  tho 
linen,  it  will  readily  be  supposed  that  the  Claes's  house- 
hold made  it  a  point  of  honor  to  possess  the  best. 

All  this  service  of  the  table,  silver,  linen,  and  glass, 
were  for  the  daily  use  of  the  family.  The  front  house, 
where  the  social  entertainments  were  given,  had  ita 
own  especial  luxury,  whose  marvels,  being  reserved  for 
great  occasions,  wore  an  air  of  dignity  often  lost  to 
things  which  are,  as  it  were,  made  common  by  daily 
use.  Here,  in  the  home  quarter,  everj'thing  bore  the 
impress  of  patriarchal  use  and  simpHcity.  And  —  for 
a  final  and  delightful  detail  —  a  vine  grew  outside  the 
house  between  the  windows,  whose  tendrilled  branches 
twined  about  the  casements. 

"  You  are  faithful  to  the  old  traditions,  madame," 
said  Pierquin,  as  he  received  a  plate  of  that  celebrate  J 


86  The  AlTcaliest. 

thyme  soup  in  which  the  Dutch  and  Flemish  cooks  put 
little  force-meat  balls  and  dice  of  fried  bread.  "  This 
is  the  Sunday  soup  of  our  forefathers.  Your  house  and 
that  of  my  uncle  des  Raquets  are  the  only  ones  where 
we  still  find  this  historic  soup  of  the  Netherlands.  Ah ! 
pardon  me,  old  Monsieur  Savaron  de  Savarus  of  Tour- 
nai  makes  it  a  matter  of  pride  to  keep  up  the  custom  ; 
but  everywhere  else  old  Flanders  is  disappearing. 
Now-a-days  everything  is  changing ;  furniture  is  made 
from  Greek  models  ;  wherever  you  go  you  see  helmets, 
lances,  shields,  and  bows  and  arrows !  Everybody  is 
rebuilding  his  house,  selling  his  old  furniture,  melting 
up  his  silver  dishes,  or  exchanging  them  for  Sevres 
porcelain,  —  which  does  not  compare  with  either  old 
Dresden  or  with  Chinese  ware.  Oh !  as  for  me,  I  'm 
Flemish  to  the  core ;  my  heart  actually  bleeds  to  see 
the  coppersmiths  buj'ing  up  our  beautiful  inlaid  furni- 
ture for  the  mere  value  of  the  wood  and  the  metal. 
The  fact  is,  society  wants  to  change  its  skin.  Every- 
thing is  being  sacrificed,  even  the  old  methods  of  art. 
When  people  insist  on  going  so  fast,  nothing  is  con- 
scientiously done.  During  my  last  visit  to  Paris  I  was 
taken  to  see  the  pictures  in  the  Louvre.  On  my  word 
of  honor,  they  are  mere  screen-painting,  — no  depth,  no 
atmosphere ;  the  painters  were  actually  afraid  to  put 
colors  on  their  canvas.  And  it  is  thej^  who  talk  of 
overturning  our  ancient  school  of  art !     Ah,  bah !  —  " 


The  Alkahest.  87 

"Our  old  masters,"  replied  Balthazar,  "studied  the 
combination  of  colors  and  their  endurance  by  submits 
ting  them  to  the  action  of  sun  and  rain.  You  are  right 
enough,  however ;  the  material  resources  of  art  arc  less 
cultivated  in  these  da^-s  than  formerly." 

Madame  Claes  was  not  listening  to  the  conversa- 
tion. The  notar\-'s  remark  that  porcelain  dinner-ser- 
vices  were  now  the  fashion,  gave  her  the  brilliant  idea 
of  selling  a  quantity  of  heavy  silver-ware  which  she 
had  inherited  from  her  brother,  —  hoping  to  be  able 
thus  to  pay  off  the  thirty  thousand  francs  which  her 
husband  owed. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  Balthazar  was  saying  to  Pierquin  when 
Madame  Claes's  mind  returned  to  the  conversation, 
"  so  they  are  discussing  my  work  in  Douai,  are  they?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  notary,  "  every  one  is  asking 
what  it  is  j-ou  spend  so  much  mone}-  on.  Only  yester- 
day I  heard  the  chief-justice  deploring  that  a  man  like 
yon  should  be  searching  for  the  Philosopher's  stone. 
I  ventured  to  reply  that  you  were  too  wise  not  to 
know  that  such  a  scheme  was  attempting  the  impossi- 
ble, too  much  of  a  Christian  to  take  God's  work  out  of 
his  hands  ;  and,  like  every  other  Claes,  too  good  a  busi- 
ness man  to  spend  your  money  for  such  befooling 
quackeries.  Still,  I  admit  that  I  share  the  regret  peo- 
ple feel  at  your  absence  from  society.  You  might  as 
well  not  live  here  at  all.     Really,  madame,  you  would 


88  The  Alkahest. 

have  been  delighted  had  you  heard  the  praises  show- 
ered on  Monsieur  Claes  and  on  you." 

"  You  acted  like  a  faithful  friend  in  repelling  impu- 
tations whose  least  e\al  is  to  make  me  ridiculous," 
said  Balthazar.  "Ha!  so  they  think  me  ruined? 
Well,  my  dear  Pierquin,  two  months  hence  I  shall 
give  a  fete  in  honor  of  my  wedding-day  whose  mag- 
nificence will  get  me  back  the  respect  my  dear  towns- 
men bestow  on  wealth." 

Madame  Claes  colored  deeply.  For  two  years  the 
anniversary  had  been  forgotten.  Like  madmen  whose 
faculties  shine  at  times  with  unwonted  brillianc}",  Bal- 
thazar was  never  more  gracious  and  delightful  in  his 
tenderness  than  at  this  moment.  He  was  full  of  atten- 
tion to  his  children,  and  his  conversation  had  the 
charms  of  grace,  and  wit,  and  pertinence.  This  return 
of  fatherly  feeling,  so  long  absent,  was  certainly-  the 
truest  fete  he  could  give  his  wife,  for  whom  his  looks 
and  words  expressed  once  more  that  unbroken  sym- 
pathy of  heart  for  heart  which  reveals  to  each  a  deli- 
cious oneness  of  sentiment. 

Old  Lemulquinier  seemed  to  renew  his  youth  ;  he 
came  and  went  about  the  table  with  unusual  liveliness, 
caused  by  the  accomplishment  of  his  secret  hopes. 
The  sudden  change  in  his  master's  ways  was  even  more 
significant  to  him  than  to  Madame  Claes.  Where  the 
family  saw  happiness  he  saw  fortune.     While  helping 


The  Alkahest.  89 

Balthazar  in  his  experiments  he  had  grown  to  share  his 
beliefs.  Whether  he  really  understood  the  drift  of  his 
master's  researches  from  certain  exclamations  -which 
escaped  the  chemist  when  expected  results  disappointed 
him,  or  whether  the  innate  tendenc}'  of  mankind  to- 
wards imitation  made  him  adopt  the  ideas  of  the  man 
in  whose  atmosphere  he  lived,  certain  it  is  that  Lcmul- 
quinier  had  conceived  for  his  master  a  superstitious 
feeling  that  was  a  mixture  of  terror,  admiration,  and 
selfishness.  The  laboratory  was  to  him  what  a  lottery- 
office  is  to  the  masses,  —  organized  hope.  Every  night 
he  went  to  bed  saj-ing  to  himself,  "To-morrow  we 
may  float  in  gold ; "  and  every  morning  he  woke  with 
a  faith  as  firm  as  that  of  the  night  before. 

His  name  proved  that  his  origin  was  wholl}-  Flemish. 
In  former  days  the  lower  classes  were  known  by  some 
name  or  nickname  derived  from  their  trades,  their  sur- 
roundings, their  physical  conformation,  or  their  moral 
qualities.  This  name  became  the  patronymic  of  the 
burgher  famil}'  which  each  established  as  soon  as  he 
obtained  his  freedom.  Sellers  of  hnen  thread  were 
called  in  Flanders  "  mulquiniers  ;''^  and  that  no  doubt 
was  the  trade  of  the  particular  ancestor  of  the  old  valet 
who  passed  from  a  state  of  serfdom  to  one  of  burgher 
dignity,  until  some  unknown  misfortune  had  again  re- 
duced his  present  descendant  to  the  condition  of  a  serf, 
with   the   addition   of  wages.     The   whole   history  of 


90  The  Alkahest. 

Flanders  and  its  linen-trade  was  epitomized  in  this  old 
man,  often  called,  by  way  of  euphony,  Mulquinier. 
He  was  not  without  originality,  either  of  character  or 
appearance.  His  face  was  triangular  in  shape,  broad 
and  long,  and  seamed  by  small-pox  which  had  left  in- 
numerable white  and  shining  patches  that  gave  him  a 
fantastic  appearance.  He  was  tall  and  thin  ;  his  whole 
demeanor  solemn  and  m^^sterious ;  and  his  small  eyes, 
yellow  as  the  wig  which  was  smoothly  plastered  on  his 
head,  cast  none  but  oblique  glances. 

The  old  valet's  outward  man  was  in  keeping  with 
the  feeling  of  curiosity  which  he  everywhere  in- 
spired. His  position  as  assistant  to  his  master,  the 
depositary  of  a  secret  jealously  guarded  and  about 
which  he  maintained  a  rigid  silence,  invested  him  with 
a  species  of  charm.  The  denizens  of  the  rue  de  Paris 
watched  him  pass  with  an  interest  mingled  with  awe ; 
to  all  their  questions  he  returned  sibylUne  answers  big 
with  mj^sterious  treasures.  Proud  of  being  necessary 
to  his  master,  he  assumed  an  annoying  authority  over 
his  companions,  employing  it  to  further  his  own  in- 
terests and  compel  a  submission  which  made  him 
virtually  the  ruler  of  the  house.  Contrary  to  the  cus- 
tom of  Flemish  servants,  who  are  deeply  attached  to 
the  famiUes  whom  they  serve,  Mulquinier  cared  only 
for  Balthazar.  If  any  trouble  befel  Madame  Claes,  or 
any  joyful  event  happened  to  the  family,  he  ate  his 


The  Alkahest.  91 

bread  and  butter  and  drank  his  beer  as  phlegmatically 
as  ever. 

Dinner  over,  Madame  Claes  proposed  that  coffee 
should  be  served  in  the  garden,  by  the  bed  of  tulips 
which  adorned  the  centre  of  it.  The  earthenware  j)oi8 
in  which  the  bulbs  were  grown  (the  name  of  each  flowor 
being  engraved  on  slate  labels)  were  sunk  in  the  groutul 
and  so  arranged  as  to  form  a  pyramid,  at  the  summit 
of  which  rose  a  certain  dragon's-head  tulip  which  Bal- 
thazar alone  possessed.  This  flower,  named  tulipn 
(Jla'esiana,  combined  the  seven  colors ;  and  the  curved 
edges  of  each  petal  looked  as  though  they  were  gilt. 
Balthazar's  father,  who  had  frequently  refused  ten  thou- 
sand florins  for  this  treasure,  took  such  precautious 
against  the  theft  of  a  single  seed  that  he  kept  the  plant 
always  in  the  parlor  and  often  spent  whole  days  in  coii- 
templating  it.  The  stem  was  enormous,  erect,  firm, 
and  admirabl}-  green  ;  the  proportions  of  the  plant  wore 
in  harmony  with  the  proportions  of  the  flower,  whose 
seven  colors  were  distinguishable  from  each  other  with 
the  clearly  defined  brilliancy  which  formerly  gave  sucli 
fabulous  value  to  these  dazzling  plants. 

"Here  j-ou  have  at  least  thirty  or  forty  thousand 
francs'  vrorth  of  tulips,"  said  the  notary,  looking  alter- 
nately at  Madame  Claes  and  at  the  many-colored  pyra- 
mid. The  former  was  too  enthusiastic  over  the  beauty 
of  the  flowers,  which  the  setting  sun  was  just  then 


92  The  Alkahest. 

transforming  into  jewels,  to  observe  the  meaning  of 
the  notar^-'s  words. 

"  What  good  do  they  do  you  ?  "  continued  Pierquin, 
addressing  Balthazar ;  "  3'ou  ought  to  sell  them." 

"Bah!  am  I  in  want  of  money?"  replied  Claes,  in 
the  tone  of  a  man  to  whom  forty  thousand  francs  was 
a  matter  of  no  consequence. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  during  which  the 
chUdren  made  many  exclamations. 

"  See  this  one,  mamma  !  " 

"Oh!  here's  a  beauty!" 

"  Tell  me  the  name  of  that  one  !  " 

"What  a  gulf  for  human  reason  to  sound!"  cried 
Balthazar,  raising  his  hands  and  clasping  them  with  a 
gesture  of  despair.  "A  compound  of  hydrogen  and 
ox3-gen  gives  off,  according  to  their  relative  propor- 
tions, under  the  same  conditions  and  by  the  same 
principle,  these  manifold  colors,  each  of  which  consti- 
tutes a  distinct  result." 

His  wife  heard  the  words  of  his  proposition,  but  it 
was  uttered  so  rapidly  that  she  did  not  seize  its  exact 
meaning ;  and  Balthazar,  as  if  remembering  that  she 
had  studied  his  favorite  science,  made  her  a  mysterious 
sign,  saying,  — 

"  You  do  not  yet  understand  me,  but  you  will." 

Then  he  apparently  fell  back  into  the  absorbed  medi- 
tation now  habitual  to  him. 


The  Alkahest.  98 

*'  No,  I  am  sure  you  do  not  understand  him,"  said 
Pierquin,  taking  his  coffee  from  Marguerite's  hand. 
"  The  Ethiopian  can't  change  his  skin,  nor  the  leopard 
his  spots,"  he  whispered  to  Madame  Claes.  "  lUve 
the  goodness  to  remonstrate  with  him  later ;  the  devil 
himself  could  n't  draw  him  out  of  his  cogitation  now : 
he  is  in  it  for  to-day,  at  any  rate." 

So  saving,  he  bade  good-by  to  Claes,  who  pretended 
not  to  hear  him,  kissed  Uttle  Jean  in  his  mother's  arms, 
and  retired  with  a  low  bow. 

When  the  street-door  clanged  behind  him,  Balthazar 
caught  his  wife  round  the  waist,  and  put  an  end  to  the 
uneasiness  his  feigned  revery  was  causing  her  bv 
whispering  in  her  ear,  — 

"  I  knew  how  to  get  rid  of  him." 

Madame  Claes  turned  her  face  to  her  husband,  not 
ashamed  to  let  him  see  the  tears  of  happiness  that 
filled  her  eyes  :  then  she  rested  her  forehead  against  his 
shoulder  and  let  little  Jean  slide  to  the  floor. 

"Let  us  go  back  into  the  parlor,"  she  said,  after  a 
pause. 

Balthazar  was  exuberantly  gay  throughout  the  even- 
ing. He  invented  games  for  the  children,  and  played 
with  such  zest  himself  that  he  did  not  notice  two  or 
three  short  absences  made  by  his  wife.  About  half- 
past  nine,  when  Jean  had  gone  to  bed,  Marguerite 
returned  to  the  parlor  after  helping  her  sister  Fi'licie 


94  The  Alkahest. 

to  undress,  and  found  her  mother  seated  in  the  deep 
armchair,  and  her  father  holding  his  wife's  hand 
as  he  talked  to  her.  The  young  girl  feared  to  dis- 
turb them,  and  was  about  to  retire  without  speak- 
ing, when  Madame  Claes  caught  sight  of  her,  and 
said :  — 

"Come  in.  Marguerite;  come  here,  dear  child." 
She  drew  her  down,  kissed  her  tenderly  on  the  fore- 
head, and  added,  "  Carry  your  book  into  your  own 
room ;  but  do  not  sit  up  too  late." 

"  Good-night,  my  darling  daughter,"  said  Balthazar. 

Marguerite  kissed  her  father  and  mother  and  went 
away.  Husband  and  wife  remained  alone  for  some 
minutes  without  speaking,  watching  the  last  glimmer  of 
the  twilight  as  it  faded  from  the  trees  in  the  garden, 
whose  outlines  were  scarcely  discernible  through  the 
gathering  darkness.  When  night  had  almost  fallen, 
Balthazar  said  to  his  wife  in  a  voice  of  emotion,  — 

"  Let  us  go  upstairs." 

Long  before  English  manners  and  customs  had  conse- 
crated the  wife's  chamber  as  a  sacred  spot,  that  of  a 
Flemish  woman  was  impenetrable.  The  good  house- 
wives of  the  Low  Countries  did  not  make  it  a  sj^mbol 
of  virtue.  It  was  to  them  a  habit  contracted  from  child- 
hood, a  domestic  superstition,  rendering  the  bedroom  a 
delightful  sanctuary  of  tender  feelings,  where  simplicity 
blended  with  all  that  was  most  sweet  and  sacred  in 


The  Alkahest.  95 

social  life.  Any  woman  in  Madame  Claes's  i^sition 
-n-ould  have  wished  to  gather  about  her  the  elegances  of 
life,  but  Josephine  had  done  so  with  exquisite  taste, 
knowing  well  how  great  an  influence  the  aspect  of  our 
surroundings  exerts  upon  the  feeUngs  of  othere.  To 
a  pretty  creature  it  would  have  been  mere  luxury,  to 
her  it  was  a  necessity.  No  one  better  understood  Uie 
meaning  of  the  saying,  '« A  pretty  woman  is  self- 
created,"  —  a  maxim  which  guided  every  action  of  Na- 
poleon's first  wife,  and  often  made  her  false ;  whcrcaa 
Madame  Claes  was  ever  natural  and  true. 

Though  Balthazar  knew  his  wife's  chamber  well,  his 
forgetfulness  of  material  things  had  lately  been  so  com- 
plete that  he  felt  a  thrill  of  soft  emotion  when  he  entered 
it,  as  though  he  saw  it  for  the  first  time.  The  proud 
gayety  of  a  triumphant  woman  glowed  in  the  splendid 
colors  of  the  tulips  which  rose  from  the  long  throats  of 
Chinese  vases  judiciously  placed  about  the  room,  and 
sparkled  in  the  profusion  of  lights  whose  eflTect  can  onlj- 
be  compared  to  a  joyous  burst  of  martial  music.  The 
gleam  of  the  wax  candles  cast  a  mellow  sheen  on  the 
coverings  of  pearl-gray  silk,  whose  monotony  was  re- 
lieved by  touches  of  gold,  soberly  distributed  here  and 
there  on  a  few  ornaments,  and  b}'  the  varied  colors  of 
the  tulips,  which  were  like  sheaves  of  precious  stones. 
The  secret  of  this  choice  arrangement  —  it  was  he,  ever 
he !     Josephine    could   not   tell   him    in    words    more 


96  The  Alkahest. 

eloquent  that  he  was  now  and  ever  the  mainspring  of 
her  joys  and  woes. 

The  aspect  of  that  chamber  put  the  soul  deliciously 
at  ease,  cast  out  sad  thoughts,  and  left  a  sense  of  pure 
and  equable  happiness.  The  silken  coverings,  brought 
from  China,  gave  forth  a  soothing  perfume  that  pene- 
trated the  system  without  fatiguing  it.  The  curtains, 
carefully  drawn,  betrayed  a  desire  for  solitude,  a  jealous 
intention  of  guarding  the  sound  of  every  word,  of  hiding 
every  look  of  the  reconquered  husband.  Madame 
Claes,  wearing  a  dressing-robe  of  muslin,  which  was 
trimmed  by  a  long  pelerine  with  falls  of  lace  that  came 
about  her  throat,  and  adorned  with  her  beautiful  black 
hair,  which  was  exquisitely  glossy  and  fell  on  either 
side  her  forehead  hke  a  raven's  wing,  went  to  draw  the 
tapestry  portiere  that  hung  before  the  door  and  allowed 
no  sound  to  penetrate  the  chamber  from  without. 


The  Alkahest.  97 


VI. 

At  the  doorwa}-  Josephine  turned,  and  threw  to  bet 
husband,  who  was  sitting  near  the  chimne}-,  one  of 
those  gay  smiles  with  which  a  sensitive  woman  whose 
soul  comes  at  moments  into  her  face,  rendering  it  beau- 
tiful, gives  expression  to  irresistible  hopes.  Woman's 
greatest  charm  lies  in  her  constant  appeal  to  the  gener- 
osity of  man  by  the  admission  of  a  weakness  which  stirs 
his  pride  and  wakens  him  to  the  nobler  sentiments. 
Is  not  such  an  avowal  of  weakness  full  of  magical  se- 
duction ?  When  the  rings  of  the  portiere  had  slipped 
with  a  muffled  sound  along  the  wooden  rod,  she  turned 
towards  Claes,  and  made  as  though  she  would  hide  her 
physical  defects  b}'  resting  her  hand  upon  a  chair  and 
drawing  herself  gracefully  forward.  It  was  calling  him 
to  help  her.  Balthazar,  sunk  for  a  moment  in  contem- 
plation of  the  olive-tinted  head,  which  attracted  and 
satisfied  the  eye  as  it  stood  out  in  relief  against  the 
soft  gray  background,  rose  to  take  his  wife  in  his  arms 
and  carry  her  to  her  sofa.     This  was  what  she  wanted. 

"  You  promised  me,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand  which 
ehe  held  between  her  own  magnetic  palms,  "  to  tell  mo 


98  The  Alkahest. 

the  secret  of  your  researches.  Admit,  dear  friend,  that 
I  am  worthy  to  know  it,  since  I  have  had  the  courage 
to  study  a  science  condemned  by  the  Church  that  I 
might  be  able  to  understand  you.  I  am  curious  ;  hide 
nothing  from  me.  Tell  me  first  how  it  happened  that 
you  rose  one  morning  anxious  and  oppressed,  when 
over  night  I  had  left  you  happ3%" 

"Is  it  to  hear  me  talk  of  chemistry  that  you  have 
made  yourself  so  coquettishly  delightful?" 

"  Dear  friend,  a  confidence  which  puts  me  in  j'our 
inner  heart  is  the  greatest  of  all  pleasures  for  me  ;  is  it 
not  a  communion  of  souls  which  gives  birth  to  the 
highest  happiness  of  earth?  Your  love  comes  back  to 
me  not  lessened,  pure  ;  I  long  to  know  what  dream  has 
had  the  power  to  keep  it  from  me  so  long.  Yes,  I  am 
more  jealous  of  a  thought  than  of  all  the  women  in  the 
world.  Love  is  vast,  but  it  is  not  infinite,  while  Science 
has  depths  unfathomed,  to  which  I  will  not  let  you  go 
alone.  I  hate  all  that  comes  between  us.  If  j'ou  win 
the  glory  for  which  you  strive,  I  must  be  unhappy ;  it 
will  bring  you  joj',  while  I  —  I  alone  —  should  be  the 
giver  of  your  happiness." 

"No,  my  angel,  it  was  not  an  idea,  not  a  thought; 
it  was  a  man  that  first  led  me  into  this  glorious  path." 

"  A  man  !  "  she  cried  in  terror. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Pepita,  the  Polish  oflicer  who 
stayed  with  us  in  1809?" 


The  Alkahest.  99 

"Do  I  remember  him!"  she  exclaimed;  -I  am 
often  annoyed  because  ray  memory  still  recalls  those 
eyes,  like  tongues  of  fire  darting  from  coals  of  hell, 
those  hollows  above  the  eyebrows,  that  broad  skull 
stripped  of  hair,  the  upturned  moustache,  the  angular, 
worn  face  !  —  "What  awful  impassiveness  in  his  l>ear- 
ing !  Ah  !  surely  if  there  had  been  a  room  in  any  itui 
i  would  never  have  allowed  him  to  sleep  here." 

"That  Polish  gentleman,"  resumed  Balthazar,  '•  was 
named  Adam  de  Wierzchownia.  When  you  K-ft  us 
alone  that  evening  in  the  parlor,  wc  hapi>ened  by 
chance  to  speak  of  chemistry.  Compelled  by  poverty 
to  give  up  the  study  of  that  science,  he  had  become  a 
soldier.  It  was,  I  think,  by  means  of  a  glass  of  sug- 
ared water  that  wc  recognized  each  other  as  adepts. 
When  I  ordered  Mulquinier  to  bring  the  sugar  in  pieces, 
the  captain  gave  a  start  of  surj)rise.  '  Have  you  stud- 
ied chemistry  ? '  he  asked.  '  With  Lavoisier,'  I  an- 
swered. '  You  are  happy  in  being  rich  and  free,'  he 
cried  ;  then  from  the  depths  of  his  bosom  came  the  sigh 
of  a  man,  —  one  of  those  sighs  which  reveal  a  hell  of  an- 
guish hidden  in  the  brain  or  in  the  heart,  a  something 
ardent,  concentrated,  not  to  be  expressed  in  words. 
He  ended  his  sentence  with  a  look  that  startled  me. 
After  a  pause,  he  told  me  that  Poland  being  at  her 
last  gasp  he  had  taken  refuge  in  Sweden.  There  he 
had  sought  consolation  for  his  country's  fate   in   the 


100  The  Alkahest. 

study  of  chemistry,  for  which  he  had  always  felt  an 
irresistible  vocation.  '  And  I  see  you  recognize  as  I 
do,'  he  added,  'that  gum  arabic,  sugar,  and  starch, 
reduced  to  powder,  each  jield  a  substance  absolutely 
similar,  with,  when  analj'zed,  the  same  qualitative 
result.' 

"He  paused  again;  and  then,  after  examining  me 
with  a  searching  eye,  he  said  confidentially,  in  a  low 
voice,  certain  grave  words  whose  general  meaning 
alone  remains  fixed  on  my  memory ;  but  he  spoke  with 
a  force  of  tone,  with  fervid  inflections,  with  an  energj^ 
of  gesture,  which  stirred  my  very  vitals,  and  struck  my 
imagination  as  the  hammer  strikes  the  anvil.  I  will  tell 
3"0u  briefly  the  arguments  he  used,  which  were  to  me 
like  the  live  coal  laid  by  the  Almighty  upon  Isaiah's 
tongue  ;  for  my  studies  with  Lavoisier  enabled  me  to 
understand  their  full  bearing. 

"  '  Monsieur,'  he  said,  '  the  parity  of  these  three  sub- 
stances, in  appearance  so  distinct,  led  me  to  think  that 
all  the  productions  of  nature  ought  to  have  a  single 
principle.  The  researches  of  modern  chemistry  prove 
the  truth  of  this  law  in  the  larger  part  of  natural 
efiects.  Chemistry  divides  creation  into  two  distinct 
parts,  —  organic  nature,  and  inorganic  nature.  Or- 
ganic nature,  comprising  as  it  does  all  animal  and  vege- 
table creations  which  show  an  organization  more  or  less 
perfect,  —  or,  to  be   more  exact,  a  greater  or  lesser 


The  Alkahest.  101 

motive  power,  which  gives  more  or  less  sensibiUty,  — 
is,  undoubtedly,  the  more  important  part  of  our  earth. 
Now,  analysis  has  reduced  all  the  products  of  this 
nature  to  four  simple  substances,  namely  :  three  gases, 
nitrogen,  hydrogen,  and  oxygen,  and  another  simple 
substance,  non-metallic  and  soUd,  carbon.  Inorganic 
nature,  on  the  contrary,  so  simple,  devoid  of  movement 
and  sensation,  denied  the  power  of  growth  (too  hastily 
accorded  to  it  by  Linnaeus) ,  possesses  fifty-three  simi)le 
substances,  or  elements,  whose  different  combinations 
make  its  products.  Is  it  probable  that  means  shouU\ 
be  more  numerous  where  a  lesser  number  of  results  aro 
produced  ? 

"  '  My  master's  opinion  was  that  these  fifty-three  pri- 
mary bodies  have  one  originating  principle,  acted  upon 
in  the  past  by  some  force  the  knowledge  of  which  has 
perished  to-daj',  but  which  human  genius  ought  to  redis- 
cover. Well,  then,  suppose  that  this  force  does  live  and 
act  again  ;  we  have  chemical  unit}'.  Organic  and  inor- 
ganic nature  would  apparently  then  rest  on  four  essential 
principles,  —  in  fact,  if  we  could  decompose  nitrogen 
which  we  ought  to  consider  a  negation,  we  should  have 
but  three.  This  brings  us  at  once  close  upon  the  great 
Ternary  of  the  ancients  and  of  the  alchemists  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages,  whom  we  do  wrong  to  scorn.  Modern  chem- 
istry is  nothing  more  than  that.  It  is  much,  and  yet 
little,  —  much,  because  the  science  has  never  recoiled 


102  The  Alkahest. 

before  difficulty  ;  little,  in  comparison  with  what  remains 
to  be  done.  Chance  has  served  her  well,  my  noble  Sci- 
ence !  Is  not  that  tear  of  crj'stallized  pure  carbon,  the 
diamond,  seemingly  the  last  substance  possible  to  cre- 
ate? The  old  alchemists,  who  thought  that  gold  was 
decomposable  and  therefore  creatable,  shrank  from  the 
idea  of  producing  the  diamond.  Yet  we  have  discov- 
ered the  nature  and  the  law  of  its  composition. 

"  '  As  for  me,'  he  continued,  '  I  have  gone  farther 
still.  An  experiment  proved  to  me  that  the  mysterious 
Ternary,  which  has  occupied  the  human  mind  from 
time  immemorial,  will  not  be  found  by  physical  analy- 
ses, which  lack  direction  to  a  fixed  point.  I  will  relate, 
in  the  first  place,  the  experiment  itself. 

"  '  Sow  cress-seed  (to  take  one  among  the  many  sub- 
stances of  organic  nature)  in  flour  of  brimstone  (to  take 
another  simple  substance).  Sprinkle  the  seed  with  dis- 
tilled water,  that  no  unknown  element  may  reach  the 
product  of  the  germination.  The  seed  germinates,  and 
sprouts  from  a  known  environment,  and  feeds  onl}'  on 
elements  known  by  analysis.  Cut  off  the  stalks  from 
time  to  time,  till  j'ou  get  a  sufiicient  quantity  to  pro- 
duce after  burning  them  enough  ashes  for  the  experi- 
ment. "Well,  by  analyzing  those  ashes,  you  will  obtain 
silicic  acid,  aluminium,  phosphate  and  carbonate  of 
lime,  carbonate  of  magnesia,  the  sulphate  and  carbonate 
of  potassium,  and  oxide  of  iron,  precisely  as  if  the 


The  Alkahest.  103 

cress  had  grown  in  ordinary  earth,  beside  a  brook. 
Now,  those  elements  did  not  exist  in  the  brimstoue, 
a  simple  substance  which  served  for  soil  to  Uie  cress 
nor  in  the  distilled  water  with  wliich  the  plant  was 
nourished,  whose  composition  was  known.  But  since 
thej'  are  no  more  to  be  found  in  the  seed  itself,  we  i-uu 
explain  their  presence  in  the  plant  onl}-  by  assuming  the 
existence  of  a  primary  element  common  to  all  the  sub- 
stances contained  in  the  cress,  and  also  to  all  those  bv 
which  we  environed  it.  Thus  the  air,  the  distilled 
water,  the  brimstone,  and  the  various  elements  which 
analj'sis  finds  in  the  cress,  namely,  potash,  lime,  mag- 
nesia, aluminium,  etc.,  should  have  one  common  prin- 
ciple floating  in  the  atmosphere  like  light  of  the  sun. 

*'  'From  this  unimpeachable  experiment,'  he  cried,  '  I 
deduce  the  existence  of  the  Alkahest,  the  Absolute,  — 
a  substance  common  to  all  created  things,  differentiated 
b}'  one  primary'  force.  Such  is  the  net  meaning  and 
position  of  the  problem  of  the  Absolute,  which  appears 
to  me  to  be  solvable.  In  it  we  find  the  mysterious 
Ternary,  before  whose  shrine  humanity  has  knelt  from 
the  dawn  of  ages,  —  the  primary  matter,  the  medium, 
the  product.  "We  find  that  terrible  number  Tiiukk  in 
all  things  human.  It  governs  reUgions,  sciences,  and 
laws. 

"  'It  was  at  this  point,'  he  went  on,  '  that  poverty 
put  an  end  to  my  researches.     You  were  the  pupil  of 


104  The  Alkahest. 

Lavoisier,  you  are  rich,  and  master  of  your  own  time, 
I  will  therefore  tell  you  my  conjectures.  Listen  to  the 
conclusions  my  personal  experiments  have  led  me  to 
foresee.  The  Prime  Matter  must  be  the  common 
principle  in  the  three  gases  and  in  carbon.  The  Me- 
dium must  be  the  principle  common  to  negative  and 
positive  electricit}'.  Proceed  to  the  discovery  of  the 
proofs  that  will  establish  those  two  truths ;  3-ou  will 
then  find  the  explanation  of  all  phenomenal  existence. 

"  '  Oh,  monsieur  ! '  he  cried,  striking  his  brow, '  when 
I  know  that  I  carry  here  the  last  word  of  Creation, 
when  intuitively  I  perceive  the  Unconditioned,  is  it 
living  to  be  dragged  hither  and  thither  in  the  ruck  of 
men  who  fly  at  each  other's  throats  at  the  word  of  com- 
mand without  knowing  what  they  are  doing  ?  My  actual 
life  is  an  inverted  dream.  My  body  comes  and  goes  and 
acts ;  it  moves  amid  bullets,  and  cannon,  and  men ;  it 
crosses  Europe  at  the  will  of  a  power  I  obey  and  yet 
despise.  My  soul  has  no  consciousness  of  these  acts ; 
it  is  fixed,  immovable,  plunged  in  one  idea,  rapt  in  that 
idea,  the  Search  for  the  Alkahest,  —  for  that  principle 
by  which  seeds  that  are  absolutely  alike,  growing  in  the 
same  environments,  produce,  some  a  white,  others  a 
yellow  flower.  The  same  phenomenon  is  seen  in  silk- 
worms fed  from  the  same  leaves,  and  apparently  con- 
stituted exactly  alike,  —  one  produces  yellow  silk, 
another  white ;   and  if  we  come   to  man  himself,  we 


The  Alkahest.  105 

find  that  children  often  resemble  neither  fiilher  nor 
mother.  The  logical  deduction  from  this  fact  surely  in- 
volves the  explanation  of  all  the  phenomena  of  nature. 

"  '  Ah,  what  can  be  more  in  harmony  with  our  ideas 
of  God  than  to  believe  he  created  all  things  by  the 
simplest  method?  The  Pythagorean  worship  of  Onk, 
from  which  come  all  other  numbers,  and  which  repre- 
sents Primal  Matter  ;  that  of  the  number  Two,  the  first 
aggregation  and  the  type  of  all  the  rest ;  that  of  the 
number  Three,  which  throughout  all  time  has  symbo- 
lized God, —  that  is  to  say,  Matter,  Force,  and  Pro- 
duct, —  are  they  not  an  echo,  lingering  along  the  ages, 
of  some  confused  knowledge  of  the  Absolute?  Stahl, 
Becker,  Paracelsus,  Agi-ippa,  all  the  great  Searchers 
into  occult  causes  took  the  Great  Triad  for  their  watch- 
word, —  in  other  words,  the  Ternary.  Ignorant  men 
who  despise  alchem},  that  transcendent  chemistry,  arc 
not  aware  that  our  work  is  onlj*  carrying  onward  the 
passionate  researches  of  those  great  men.  Had  I  found 
the  Absolute,  the  Unconditioned,  I  meant  to  liave 
grappled  with  Motion.  Ah !  while  I  am  swallowing 
gunpowder  and  leading  men  uselessly  to  their  death, 
my  former  master  is  piling  discover}'  upon  discovery ! 
he  is  soaring  towards  the  Absolute,  while  I  —  1  shall 
die  like  a  dog  in  the  trenches ! ' 

*'  When  this  poor  grand  man  recovered  his  compo* 
sure,  he  said,  in  a  touching  tone  of  brotherhood,  '  If  I 


106  The  Alkahest. 

see  cause  for  a  great  experiment  I  will  bequeath  it  to 
you  before  I  die.'  —  My  Pepita,"  cried  Balthazar,  taking 
his  wife's  hands,  "  tears  of  anguish  rolled  down  his 
hollow  cheeks,  as  he  cast  into  my  soul  the  fiery  argu- 
ments that  Lavoisier  had  timidly  recognized  without 
daring  to  follow  them  out  — " 

"Oh  !  "  cried  Madame  Claes,  unable  to  refrain  from 
interrupting  her  husband,  "that  man,  passing  one 
night  under  our  roof,  was  able  to  deprive  us  of  your 
love,  to  destroy  with  a  phrase,  a  word,  the  happiness 
of  a  family !  Oh,  my  dear  Balthazar,  did  he  make 
the  sign  of  the  cross?  did  you  examine  him?  The 
Tempter  alone  could  have  had  that  flaming  ej'e  which 
sent  forth  the  fire  of  Prometheus.  Yes,  none  but  the 
Devil  could  have  torn  j'ou  from  me.  From  that  day 
3'ou  have  been  neither  husband,  nor  father,  nor  master 
of  your  famil}'." 

' '  What !  "  exclaimed  Balthazar,  springing  to  his  feet 
and  casting  a  piercing  glance  at  his  wife,  "do  3'ou 
blame  your  husband  for  rising  above  the  level  of  other 
men  that  he  may  lay  at  your  feet  the  divine  purple  of 
his  gloi'y,  as  a  paltry  offering  in  exchange  for  the  treas- 
ures of  j^our  heart!  Ah,  my  Pepita,"  he  cried,  "you 
do  not  know  what  I  have  done.  In  these  three  years 
I  have  made  giant  strides  —  " 

His  face  seemed  to  his  wife  at  this  moment  more 
transfigured  under  the  fires  of  genius  than  she  had  ever 


The  Alkahest.  107 

seen  it  under  the  fires  of  love ;  and  she  wept  as  she 
listened  to  him. 

"  I  have  combined  chlorine  and  nitrogen  ;  T  have  de- 
composed many  substances  hitherto  considered  simple  ; 
I  have  discovered  new  metals.  Why  !  "  he  continued, 
noticing  that  his  wife  wept,  "I  have  even  deconi- 
posed  tears.  Tears  contain  a  little  phosphate  of  lime, 
chloride  of  sodium,  mucin,  and  water." 

He  went  on  speaking,  without  oliserving  tlie  spasm 
of  pain  that  contracted  Josephine's  features  ;  In-  was 
again  astride  of  Science,  which  bore  him  with  outspread 
wings  far  away  from  material  existence. 

"This  anah'sis,  my  dear,"  he  went  on,  "is  one  of 
the  most  convincing  proofs  of  the  theory  of  the  Abso- 
lute. All  life  involves  combustion.  According  to  the 
greater  or  the  lesser  activity  of  the  fire  on  its  hearth 
is  life  more  or  less  enduring.  In  like  manner,  the  de- 
struction of  mineral  bodies  is  indefinitely  retarded, 
because  in  their  case  combustion  is  nominal,  latent, 
or  imperceptible.  In  like  manner,  again,  vegetaliles, 
which  are  constantl}^  revived  by  combinations  pro<Uicing 
dampness,  live  indefinitely ;  in  fact,  we  still  possess 
certain  vegetables  which  existed  before  the  periotl  of 
the  last  cataclysm.  But  each  time  that  nature  has 
perfected  an  organism  and  then,  for  some  unknown 
reason,  has  introduced  into  it  sensation,  instinct,  or  in- 
telligence (three  marked  stages  of  the  organic  system), 


108  The  Alkahest. 

these  three  agencies  necessitate  a  combustion  whose 
activity  is  in  direct  proportion  to  the  result  obtained. 
Man,  who  represents  the  highest  point  of  intelligence, 
and  who  offers  us  the  only  organism  by  which  we 
arrive  at  a  power  that  is  semi-creative  —  namely, 
Thought  —  is,  among  all  zoological  creations,  the  one 
in  which  combustion  is  found  in  its  most  intense  de- 
gi'ee ;  whose  powerful  effects  may  in  fact  be  seen  to 
some  extent  in  the  phosphates,  sulphates,  and  carbo- 
nates which  man's  body  reveals  to  our  anatysis.  May 
not  these  substances  be  traces  left  within  him  of  the 
passage  of  the  electric  fluid  which  is  the  principle  of 
all  fertilization  ?  Would  not  electricity  manifest  itself 
by  a  greater  variety  of  compounds  in  him  than  in  any 
other  animal?  Should  not  he  have  faculties  above 
those  of  all  other  created  beings  for  the  purpose  of 
absorbing  fuller  portions  of  the  Absolute  principle? 
and  may  he  not  assimilate  that  principle  so  as  to  pro- 
duce, in  some  more  perfect  mechanism,  his  force  and 
his  ideas?  I  think  so.  Man  is  a  retort.  In  my 
judgment,  the  brain  of  an  idiot  contains  too  little 
phosphorus  or  other  product  of  electro-magnetism, 
that  of  a  madman  too  much ;  the  brain  of  an  or- 
dinary man  has  but  little,  while  that  of  a  man  of 
genius  is  saturated  to  its  due  degree.  The  man 
constantly  in  love,  the  street-porter,  the  dancer,  the 
large    eater,   are    the   ones    who    disperse    the   force 


The  Alkahest.  IQg 

resulting  from  their  electrical  apparatus.    ConsequeuUy, 
our  feelings  —  " 

"Enough,  Balthazar!  you  terrify  me;  you  commit 
sacrilege.     What,  is  my  love  —  " 

"An  ethereal  matter  disengaged,  an  emanation,  the 
key  of  the  Absolute.  Conceive  if  I— I,  the  Grst, 
should  find  it,  find  it,  find  it !  " 

As  he  uttered  the  words  in  three  rising  tones,  the  ex- 
pression of  his  face  rose  by  degrees  to  inspiration.  "  I 
shall  make  metals,"  he  cried ;  "  I  shall  make  diamonds, 
I  shall  be  a  co-worker  with  Nature  !  " 

"  WiU  you  be  the  happier?"  she  asked  in  despair. 
"Accursed  science!  accursed  demon!  You  forget, 
Claes,  that  you  commit  the  sin  of  pride,  the  sin  of  which 
Satan  was  guilty  ;  you  assume  the  attributes  of  Gotl." 

"Oh!  oh!  God!" 

"He  denies  Him!"  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands. 
"  Claes,  God  wields  a  power  that  3'ou  can  never  gain." 

At  this  argument,  which  seemed  to  discredit  his  be- 
loved Science,  he  looked  at  his  wife  and  trembled. 

"  What  power?"  he  asked. 

"Primal  force  —  motion,"  she  replied.  "This  is 
what  I  learn  from  the  books  your  mania  has  constrained 
me  to  read.  Analyze  fruits,  flowers,  Malaga  wine  ;  you 
will  discover,  undoubtedl}',  that  their  substances  come, 
like  those  of  your  water-cress,  from  a  medium  that 
seems  foreign  to  them.     You  can,  if  need  be,  find  them 


110  The  Alkahest. 

in  nature ;  but  when  you  have  them,  can  you  combine 
them?  can  jon  make  the  flowers,  the  fruits,  the  Malaga 
wine?  Will  you  have  grasped  the  inscrutable  effects 
of  the  sun,  of  the  atmosphere  of  Spain  ?  Ah !  decom- 
posing is  not  creating." 

"  If  I  discover  the  magistral  force,  I  shall  be  able  to 
create." 

"  Will  nothing  stop  him?  "  cried  Pepita.  "Oh  !  my 
love,  my  love  !  it  is  killed !  I  have  lost  him  !  " 

She  svept  bitterly,  and  her  eyes,  illumined  by  grief 
and  b}'  the  sanctity  of  the  feelings  that  flooded  her  soul, 
shone  with  greater  beaut}'  than  ever  through  her  tears. 

"Yes,"  she  resumed  in  a  broken  voice,  "you  are 
dead  to  all.  I  see  it  but  too  well.  Science  is  more 
powerful  within  you  than  your  own  self;  it  bears  you  to 
heights  from  which  you  will  return  no  more  to  be  the 
companion  of  a  poor  woman.  What  joys  can  I  still 
offer  you?  Ah!  I  would  fain  believe,  as  a  wretched 
consolation,  that  God  has  indeed  created  you  to  make 
manifest  his  works,  to  chant  his  praises ;  that  he  has 
put  within  3'our  breast  the  irresistible  power  that  has 
mastered  you  —  But  no  ;  God  is  good  ;  he  would  keep 
in  your  heart  some  thoughts  of  the  woman  who  adores 
you,  of  the  children  you  are  bound  to  protect.  It  is  the 
Evil  One  alone  who  is  helping  yoxx  to  walk  amid  these 
fathomless  abysses,  these  clouds  of  outer  darkness, 
where  the  light  of  faith  does  not  guide  you,  —  nothing 


The  Alkahest.  HI 

guides  you  but  a  terrible  beUef  in  your  own  faculties! 
Were  it  otherwise,  would  you  not  have  seen  that  you 
have  wasted  nine  hundred  thousand  franca  in  thrte 
years?  Oh !  do  me  justice,  you,  my  God  on  earth !  I 
reproach  you  not;  were  we  alone  1  would  bring  you, 
on  my  knees,  all  that  I  possess  and  say,  'Take  it, 
fling  it  into  your  furnace,  turn  it  into  smoke ; '  and  I 
should  laugh  to  see  it  float  away  in  vapor.  AVere  you 
poor,  I  would  beg  without  shame  for  the  coal  to  light 
your  furnace.  Oh!  could  my  body  yield  your  hateful 
Alkahest,  I  would  fling  myself  upon  those  fires  with  joy, 
since  your  glory,  your  delight  is  in  that  un found  secret. 
But  our  children,  Claes,  our  children  !  what  will  become 
of  them  if  you  do  not  soon  discover  this  hellish  thing? 
Do  you  know  why  Pierquin  came  to-day  ?  He  came  for 
thirty  thousand  francs,  which  you  owe  and  cannot  pa  v. 
I  told  him  that  you  had  the  money,  so  that  I  might 
spare  you  the  mortification  of  his  questions;  but  to 
get  it  I  must  sell  our  family  silver." 

She  saw  her  husband's  eyes  grow  moist,  and  she 
flung  herself  despairingly  at  his  feet,  raising  up  to  him 
her  supplicating  hands. 

"  My  friend,"  she  cried,  "refrain  awhile  from  these 
researches  ;  let  us  economize,  let  us  save  the  money  that 
may  enable  yon  to  take  them  up  hereafter,  —  if,  indeed, 
you  cannot  renounce  this  work.  Oh  !  I  do  not  condemn 
it ;  I  will  heat  your  furnaces  \iyo\x  ask  it ;  but  I  implore 


112  The  Alkahest. 

you,  do  not  reduce  our  children  to  beggary.  Perhaps 
you  cannot  love  them,  Science  may  have  consumed  your 
heart ;  but  oh  !  do  not  bequeath  them  a  wretched  life  in 
place  of  the  happiness  you  owe  them.  Motherhood  has 
sometimes  been  too  weak  a  power  in  my  heart ;  j^es,  I 
have  sometimes  wished  I  were  not  a  mother,  that  I 
might  be  closer  to  your  soul,  your  life !  And  now,  to 
stifle  my  remorse,  must  I  plead  the  cause  of  my  children 
before  j'ou,  and  not  my  own  ?  " 

Her  hair  fell  loose  and  floated  over  her  shoulders,  her 
eyes  shot  forth  her  feelings  as  though  they  had  been 
arrows.  She  triumphed  over  her  rival.  Balthazar  lifted 
her,  carried  her  to  the  sofa,  and  knelt  at  her  feet. 

"Have  I  caused  joxx  such  grief?"  he  said,  in  the 
tone  of  a  man  waking  from  a  painful  dream. 

"  M3'  poor  Claes  !  3-es,  and  3'ou  will  cause  me  more, 
in  spite  of  yourself,"  she  said,  passing  her  hand  over 
his  hair.  "  Sit  here  beside  me,"  she  continued,  point- 
ing to  the  sofa.  "  Ah !  I  can  forget  it  all  now,  now 
that  you  come  back  to  us ;  all  can  be  repaired  —  but 
you  will  not  abandon  me  again  ?  say  that  you  will  not ! 
M3'  noble  husband,  grant  me  a  woman's  influence  on 
your  heart,  that  influence  which  is  so  needful  to  the 
happiness  of  suflTering  artists,  to  the  troubled  minds  of 
great  men.  You  may  be  harsh  to  me,  angry-  with  me 
if  you  will,  but  let  me  check  you  a  little  for  3'our  good. 
I  will  never  abuse  the  power  if  3'ou  will  grant  it.     Be 


The  Alkahest.  113 

famous,  but  be  happy  too.  Do  not  love  Chemistry  bet- 
ter than  you  love  us.  Hear  me,  we  will  be  gonerous ; 
we  will  let  Science  share  your  heart ;  but  oh  I  my  Cla«j«, 
be  just ;  let  us  have  our  half.  Tell  me,  is  not  my  dis- 
interestedness subUme  ? " 

She  made  him  smile.  "With  the  mar\-ellous  art  such 
women  possess,  she  carried  the  momentous  question 
into  the  regions  of  pleasantry  where  women  reign. 
But  though  she  seemed  to  laugh,  her  heart  was  vio- 
lently contracted  and  could  not  easily  recover  the  quiet 
even  action  that  was  habitual  to  it.  And  j'et,  as  she 
saw  in  the  eyes  of  Balthazar  the  rebirth  of  a  love  which 
was  once  her  glory,  the  full  return  of  a  power  she  thought 
she  had  lost,  she  said  to  him  with  a  smile  :  — 

"  Believe  me,  Balthazar,  nature  made  us  to  feel ;  and 
though  you  may  wish  us  to  be  mere  electrical  machines, 
yet  your  gases  and  your  ethereal  disengaged  matters 
will  never  explain  the  gift  we  possess  of  looking  into 
futurity." 

"Yes,"  he  exclaimed,  "by  affinity.  The  power  of 
vision  which  makes  the  poet,  the  power  of  deduction 
which  makes  the  man  of  science,  are  based  on  invisible 
affinities,  intangible,  imponderable,  which  vulgar  minds 
class  as  moral  phenomena,  whereas  they  are  physical 
effects.  The  prophet  sees  and  deduces.  Unfortu- 
nately, such  affinities  are  too  rare  and  too  obscure  to 
be  subjected  to  analysis  or  observation." 


114  The  Alkahest. 

"  Is  this,"  she  said,  giving  him  a  kiss  to  drive  away 
the  Chemistry  she  had  so  unfortunately  reawakened^ 
"  what  you  call  an  affinity?  " 

' '  No  ;  it  is  a  compound  ;  two  substances  that  are 
equivalents  are  neutral,  they  produce  no  reaction  — " 

"Oh!  hush,  hush,"  she  cried,  "you  will  make  me 
die  of  grief.  I  can  never  bear  to  see  my  rival  in  the 
transports  of  j'our  love." 

"But,  my  dear  life,  I  think  only  of  you.  My  work 
is  for  the  glory  of  ray  family.  You  are  the  basis  of  all 
my  hopes." 

"Ah,  look  me  in  the  eyes  !  " 

The  scene  had  made  her  as  beautiful  as  a  young 
woman ;  of  her  whole  person  Balthazar  saw  only  her 
head,  rising  from  a  cloud  of  lace  and  muslin. 

"Yes,  I  have  done  wrong  to  abandon  you  for  Sci- 
ence," he  said.  "  If  I  fall  back  into  thought  and  pre- 
occupation, then,  my  Pepita,  you  must  drag  me  from 
them ;  I  desire  it." 

She  lowered  her  eyes  and  let  him  take  her  hand,  her 
greatest  beaut}^,  —  a  hand  that  was  both  strong  and 
delicate. 

"  But  I  ask  more,"  she  said. 

"  You  are  so  lovely,  so  deUghtful,  you  can  obtain 
all,"  he  answered. 

"  I  wish  to  destroy  that  laboratory,  and  chain  up 
Science,"  she  said,  with  fire  in  her  eyes. 


TJhe  Alkahest.  115 

"  So  be  it— let  Chemistry  go  to  tlie  devil ! " 
"  This  moment  effaces  all !  "  she  cried.     "  Make  me 
suffer  now,  if  you  will." 

Tears  came  to  Balthazar's  eyes,  as  he  heard  these 
words. 

"  You  were  right,  love,"  he  said.  "  I  have  seen  you 
through  a  veil ;  I  have  not  understood  you." 

"If  it  concerned  only  me,"  she  said,  "  wiUingly 
would  I  have  suffered  in  silence,  never  would  I  have 
raised  my  voice  against  my  sovereign.  But  your  sons 
must  be  thought  of,  Claes.  If  you  continue  to  dissi- 
pate your  property,  no  matter  how  glorious  the  object 
you  have  in  -view  the  world  will  take  little  account  of 
it,  it  wiU  only  blame  you  and  yours.  But  surely,  it  is 
enough  for  a  man  of  your  noble  nature  that  his  wife 
has  shown  him  a  danger  he  did  not  perceive.  "\Ve  will 
talk  of  this  no  more,"  she  cried,  with  a  smile  and  a 
glance  of  coquetry'.  "  To-night,  my  Claes,  let  us  not 
be  less  than  happ}'." 


116  The  Alkahest. 


VII. 

On  the  morrow  of  this  evening  so  eventful  for  the 
Claes  family,  Balthazar,  from  whom  Josephine  had 
doubtless  obtained  some  promise  as  to  the  cessation 
of  his  researches,  remained  in  the  parlor,  and  did  not 
enter  his  laboratorj-.  The  succeeding  day  the  house- 
hold prepared  to  move  into  the  country,  where  they 
stayed  for  more  than  two  months,  only  returning  to 
town  in  time  to  prepare  for  the  fete  which  Claes  deter- 
mined to  give,  as  in  former  years,  to  commemorate  his 
wedding  da}-.  He  now  began  bj'  degrees  to  obtain 
proof  of  the  disorder  which  his  experiments  and  his 
indifference  had  brought  into  his  business  affairs. 

Madame  Claes,  far  from  irritating  the  wound  by  re- 
marking on  it,  continually  found  remedies  for  the  evil 
that  was  done.  Of  the  seven  servants  who  customarily 
served  the  famil}-,  there  now  remained  onty  Lemul- 
quinier,  Josette  the  cook,  and  an  old  waiting- woman, 
named  Martha,  who  had  never  left  her  mistress  since 
the  latter  left  her  convent.  It  was  of  course  impossible 
to  give  a  fete  to  the  whole  society  of  Douai  with  so  few 


The  Alkahest.  117 

Bervants,  but  Madame  Claes  overcame  all  difflcultiea 
by  proposing  to  send  to  Paris  for  a  cook,  to  train  tho 
gardener's  son  as  a  waiter,  and  to  borrow  Picrquiu's 
manservant.  Thus  the  pinched  circumstances  of  the 
family  passed  unnoticed  by  the  community. 

During  the  twenty  days  of  preparation  for  the  f^to, 
Madame  Claes  was  cleverly  able  to  outwit  her  husband's 
listlessness.  She  commissioned  him  to  select  the  rarest 
plants  and  flowers  to  decorate  the  grand  staircase,  the 
gallerj-,  and  the  salons  ;  then  she  sent  him  to  Dunkerque 
to  order  one  of  those  monstrous  fish  which  are  the  glory 
of  the  burgher  tables  in  the  northern  departments.  A 
fete  like  that  the  Claes  were  about  to  give  is  a  serious 
affair,  involving  thought  and  care  and  active  corre- 
spondence, in  a  land  where  traditions  of  hospitahty 
put  the  family  honor  so  much  at  stake  that  to  servants 
as  well  as  masters  a  grand  dinner  is  like  a  victory  won 
over  the  guests.  Oysters  amved  from  Ostend,  grouse 
were  imported  from  Scotland,  fruits  came  from  Paris ; 
in  short,  not  the  smallest  accessory  was  lacking  to  the 
hereditary  luxurj-. 

A  ball  at  the  House  of  Claes  had  an  importance  of  its 
own.  The  government  of  the  departbaent  was  then  at 
Douai,  and  the  anniversary  fete  of  the  Claiis  usually 
opened  the  winter  season  and  set  the  fashion  to  the 
neighborhood.  For  fifteen  years,  Balthazar  had  en- 
deavored to  make  it  a  distinguished  occasion,  and  had 


118  The  Alkahest. 

succeeded  so  well  that  the  fete  was  talked  of  throughout 
a  circumference  of  sixty  miles,  and  the  toilettes,  the 
guests,  the  smallest  details,  the  novelties  exhibited,  and 
the  events  that  took  place,  were  discussed  far  and  wide. 
These  preparations  now  prevented  Claes  from  thinking, 
for  the  time  being,  of  the  Alkahest.  Since  his  return 
to  social  life  and  domestic  ideas,  the  servant  of  science 
had  recovered  his  self-love  as  a  man,  as  a  Fleming,  as 
the  master  of  a  household,  and  he  now  took  pleasure  in 
the  thought  of  surprising  the  whole  country.  He  re- 
solved to  give  a  special  character  to  this  ball  by  some 
exquisite  novelty ;  and  he  chose,  among  all  other  caprices 
of  luxur}',  the  loveliest,  the  richest,  and  the  most  fleet- 
ing, —  he  turned  the  old  mansion  into  a  fairy  bower  of 
rare  plants  and  flowers,  and  prepared  choice  bouquets 
for  all  the  ladies. 

The  other  details  of  the  fete  were  in  keeping  with  this 
unheard-of  luxur^^  and  nothing  seemed  likel}"  to  mar  the 
eflect.  But  the  Twenty-ninth  Bulletin  and  the  news  of 
the  terrible  disasters  of  the  grand  arm}'  in  Russia,  and 
at  the  passage  of  the  Beresina,  were  made  known  on 
the  afternoon  of  the  appointed  day.  A  sincere  and 
profound  grief  was  felt  in  Douai,  and  those  who  were 
present  at  the  fete,  moved  by  a  natural  feeling  of  patri- 
otism, unanimousl}'  declined  to  dance. 

Among  the  letters  which  arrived  that  day  in  Douai, 
was  one  for  Balthazar  from  Monsieur  de  Wierzchownioi 


The  Alkahest.  119 

then  in  Dresden  and  dying,  he  wrote,  from  wounds 
received  in  one  of  the  late  engagements.  He  remem- 
bered his  promise,  and  desired  to  bequeath  to  his  former 
host  several  ideas  on  the  subject  of  the  Absolute,  which 
had  come  to  him  since  the  period  of  their  meeting.  Tlie 
letter  plunged  Claes  into  a  revery  which  a{)parently  did 
honor  to  his  patriotism  ;  but  his  wife  was  not  misled  bv 
it.  To  her,  this  festal  day  brought  a  double  mourning : 
and  the  ball,  during  which  the  House  of  Clacs  sliono 
with  departing  lustre,  was  sombre  and  sad  in  spite  of 
its  magnificence,  and  the  man^'  choice  treasures  gath- 
ered by  the  hands  of  six  generations,  which  the  people 
of  Douai  now  beheld  for  the  last  time. 

Marguerite  Claes,  just  sixteen,  was  the  queen  of  the 
day,  and  on  this  occasion  her  parents  presented  her  to 
societ}'.  She  attracted  all  eyes  b}-  the  extreme  simplicity 
and  candor  of  her  air  and  manner,  and  especiall}'  by  the 
harmony  of  her  form  and  countenance  with  the  charac- 
teristics of  her  home.  She  was  the  embodiment  of  the 
Flemish  girl  whom  the  painters  of  that  country*  loved  to 
represent,  —  the  head  perfectly  rounded  and  full,  chest- 
nut hair  parted  in  the  middle  and  laid  smoothly  on  the 
brow,  gray  eyes  with  a  mixture  of  green,  handsome 
arms,  natural  stoutness  which  did  not  detract  from  her 
beauty,  a  timid  air,  and  yet,  on  the  high  square  brow 
2,n  expression  of  firmness,  hidden  at  present  under  an 
apparent  calmness  and  docility.     Without  being  sad  or 


120  The  Alkahest. 

melancholy,  she  seemed  to  have  little  natural  enjoj-- 
ment.  Reflectiveness,  order,  a  sense  of  duty,  the  three 
chief  expressions  of  Flemish  nature,  were  the  charac- 
teristics of  a  face  that  seemed  cold  at  first  sight,  but  to 
which  the  eye  was  recalled  by  a  certain  grace  of  outline 
and  a  placid  pride  which  seemed  the  pledges  of  domes- 
tic happiness.  By  one  of  those  freaks  which  physiolo- 
gists have  not  yet  explained,  she  bore  no  likeness  to 
either  father  or  mother,  but  was  the  living  image  of  her 
maternal  great-grandmother,  a  Conj^ncks  of  Bruges, 
whose  portrait,  rehgiously  preserved,  bore  witness  to 
the  resemblance. 

The  supper  gave  some  life  to  the  ball.  If  the  mili- 
tarj'  disasters  forbade  the  delights  of  dancing,  every  one 
felt  that  they  need  not  exclude  the  pleasures  of  the 
table.  The  true  patriots,  however,  retired  early ;  only 
the  more  indifi'erent  remained,  together  with  a  few  card- 
players  and  the  intimate  friends  of  the  familj'.  Little 
b}'  little  the  brilUantly  lighted  house,  to  which  all  the 
notabilities  of  Douai  had  flocked,  sank  into  silence,  and 
b}'  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  great  gallery  was  de- 
serted, the  lights  were  extinguished  in  one  salon  after 
another,  and  the  court-yard,  lately  so  bustling  and  bril- 
liant, grew  dark  and  gloomy,  —  prophetic  image  of  the 
future  that  lay  before  the  family.  When  the  Claes  re- 
turned to  their  own  appartement,  Balthazar  gave  his 
wife  the  letter  he  had  received  from  the  Polish  officer : 


The  Alkahest.  121 

Josephine  returned  it  with  a  mournful  gesture  ;  she  fore- 
saw the  coming  doom. 

From  that  day  forth,  Balthazar  made  no  attempt  to 
disguise  the  weariness  and  the  depression  that  assailed 
him.  In  the  mornings,  after  the  family  breakfast,  ho 
played  for  awhile  iu  the  parlor  with  little  Jean,  and 
talked  to  his  daughters,  who  were  busy  with  their  sew- 
ing, or  embroidery  or  lace-work ;  but  he  soon  wearied 
of  the  play  and  of  the  talk,  and  seemed  at  last  to  get 
through  with  them  as  a  duty.  When  his  wife  came 
down  again  after  dressing,  she  always  found  him  sitting 
in  an  easy-chair  lopking  blankly  at  Marguerite  and 
Felicie,  quite  undisturbed  by  the  rattle  of  their  bobbins. 
When  the  newspaper  was  brought  in,  he  read  it  slowly 
like  a  retired  merchant  at  a  loss  how  to  kill  the  time. 
Then  he  would  get  up,  look  at  the  sky  through  the 
window  panes,  go  back  to  his  chair  and  mend  the  fire 
drearily,  as  though  he  were  deprived  of  all  conscious- 
ness of  his  own  movements  by  the  tjrann}'  of  ideas. 

Madame  Claes  keenly  regretted  her  defects  of  edu- 
cation and  memor}'.  It  was  difficult  for  her  to  susUiin 
an  interesting  conversation  for  any  length  of  time  ;  per- 
haps this  is  alwaj's  difficult  between  two  persons  wlio 
have  said  everything  to  each  other,  and  are  forced  to 
seek  for  subjects  of  Interest  outside  the  life  of  the 
heart,  or  the  life  of  material  existence.  The  life  of 
the  heart  has  its  own  moments  of  expansion  which 


122  The  Alkahest. 

need  some  stimulus  to  bring  them  forth  ;  discussions  of 
material  life  cannot  long  occupy  superior  minds  accus- 
tomed to  decide  promptly ;  and  the  mere  gossip  of  so- 
ciety is  intolerable  to  loving  natures.  Consequently, 
two  isolated  beings  who  know  each  other  thoroughly 
ought  to  seek  their  enjoyments  in  the  higher  regions 
of  thought ;  for  it  is  impossible  to  satisf}'  with  paltry 
things  the  immensity  of  the  relation  between  them. 
Moreover,  when  a  man  has  accustomed  himself  to  deal 
with  great  subjects,  he  becomes  unamusable,  unless  he 
preserves  in  the  depths  of  his  heart  a  certain  guileless 
simplicity  and  unconstraint  which  often  make  great 
geniuses  such  charming  children ;  but  the  childhood  of 
the  heart  is  a  rare  human  phenomenon  among  those 
whose  mission  it  is  to  see  all,  know  all,  and  compre- 
hend all. 

During  these  first  months,  Madame  Claes  worked  her 
way  through  this  critical  situation,  by  unwearying  ef- 
forts, which  love  or  necessit}'  suggested  to  her.  She 
tried  to  learn  backgammon,  which  she  had  never  been 
able  to  play,  but  now,  from  an  impetus  eas}'  to  under- 
stand, she  ended  by  mastering  it.  Then  she  interested 
Balthazar  in  the  education  of  his  daughters,  and  asked 
him  to  direct  their  studies.  All  such  resources  were, 
however,  soon  exhausted.  There  came  a  time  when 
Josephine's  relation  to  Balthazar  was  like  that  of  Ma- 
dame de  Maintenoa  to  Louis  XIV.  ;  she  had  to  amuse 


The  Alkahest.  123 

the  unamusable,  but  without  the  pomps  of  |)owor  or 
the  wUes  of  a  court  which  could  phiy  comedies  like 
the  sham  embassies  from  the  King  of  Siaiu  ami  the 
Shah  of  Persia.  After  wasting  the  revenues  of  France, 
Louis  XIV.,  no  longer  young  or  successful,  was  reduced 
to  the  expedients  of  a  family  heir  to  raise  the  money  he 
needed  ;  in  the  midst  of  his  grandeur  he  felt  his  impo- 
tence, and  the  royal  nurse  who  had  rocked  the  cradles 
of  his  children  was  often  at  her  wit's  end  to  rock  his.  or 
soothe  the  monarch  now  suffering  from  his  misuse  of 
men  and  things,  of  life  and  God.  Claes,  on  the  con- 
trary, suffered  from  too  much  power.  Stifling  in  the 
clutch  of  a  single  thought,  he  dreamed  of  the  pomps  of 
Science,  of  treasures  for  the  human  race,  of  glory  for 
himself.  He  suffered  as  artists  suffer  in  the  grip  of 
poverty,  as  Samson  suffered  beneath  the  pillars  of  the 
temple.  The  result  was  the  same  for  the  two  sov- 
ereigns ;  though  the  intellectual  monarch  was  crushed 
by  his  inward  force,  the  other  by  his  weakness. 

What  could  Pepita  do,  singly,  against  this  species  of 
scientific  nostalgia?  After  employing  every  means  that 
family  life  afforded  her,  she  called  society  to  the  rescue, 
and  gave  two  "cafes"  ever}'  week.  Cafes  at  Donni 
took  the  place  of  teas.  A  cafe  was  an  assemblage 
at  which,  during  a  whole  evening,  the  guests  sipi)cd  tlie 
delicious  wines  and  liqueurs  which  overflow  the  cellars 
of  that  ever-blessed  land,  ate  the  Flemish  dainties  and 


124  The  Alkahest. 

took  their  cafe  noir  or  their  cafe  au  laitfrappe^  while 
the  women  sang  ballads,  discussed  each  other's  toilettes, 
and  related  the  gossip  of  the  da}'.  It  was  a  living  pic- 
ture by  Mieris  or  Terburg,  without  the  pointed  gray 
hats,  the  scarlet  plumes,  or  the  beautiful  costumes  of 
the  sixteenth  centiuy.  And  yet,  Balthazar's  efforts  to 
pla}'  the  part  of  host,  his  constrained  courtesy,  his 
forced  animation,  left  him  the  next  day  in  a  state  of 
languor  which  showed  but  too  plainly  the  depths  of  the 
inward  ill. 

These  continual  fetes,  weak  remedies  for  the  real  evil, 
only  increased  it.  Like  branches  which  caught  him  as 
he  rolled  down  the  precipice,  they  retarded  Claes's  fall, 
but  in  the  end  he  fell  the  heavier.  Though  he  never 
spoke  of  his  former  occupations,  never  showed  the  least 
regret  for  the  promise  he  had  given  not  to  renew  his 
researches,  he  grew  to  have  the  melanchol}'  motions, 
the  feeble  voice,  the  depression  of  a  sick  person.  The 
ennui  that  possessed  him  showed  at  times  in  the  very 
manner  with  which  he  picked  up  the  tongs  and  built 
fantastic  pyramids  in  the  fire  with  bits  of  coal,  utterl}- 
unconscious  of  what  he  was  doing.  When  night  came 
he  was  evidently  relieved  ;  sleep  no  doubt  released  him 
from  the  importunities  of  thought :  the  next  daj'  he 
rose  wearily  to  encounter  another  da}',  —  seeming  to 
measure  time  as  the  tired  traveller  measures  the  desert 
he  is  forced  to  cross. 


The  Alkahest.  125 

If  Madame  Claes  knew  the  cause  of  this  languor  she 
endeavored  not  to  see  the  extent  of  its  ravages.  Full 
of  courage  against  the  sufferings  of  the  mind,  she  wn.s 
helpless  against  the  generous  impulses  of  the  heart. 
She  dared  not  question  Balthazar  when  she  saw  him 
listening  to  the  laughter  of  little  Jean  or  the  chattor  of 
his  girls,  with  the  air  of  a  man  absorbed  in  secret 
thoughts ;  but  she  shuddered  when  she  saw  him  shake 
off  his  melancholy  and  try,  with  generous  intent,  to  set-m 
cheerful,  that  he  might  not  distress  others.  Tlic  litlU- 
coquetries  of  the  father  with  his  daughters,  or  his  games 
with  little  Jean,  moistened  the  eyes  of  the  poor  wife, 
who  often  left  the  room  to  hide  the  feelings  that  heroic 
effort  caused  her,  —  a  heroism  the  cost  of  which  is  well 
understood  by  women,  a  generosity  that  well-nigh  breaks 
their  heart.  At  such  times  Madame  Claijs  longed  to  say, 
"  Kill  me,  and  do  what  3-ou  will !  " 

Little  b}'  little  Balthazai-'s  eyes  lost  their  fire  and  took 
the  glaucous  opaque  tint  which  overspreads  the  eyes  of 
old  men.  His  attentions  to  his  wife,  his  manner  of 
speaking,  his  whole  bearing,  grew  heav}'  and  inert. 
These  sj-mptoms  became  more  marked  towards  the  end 
of  April,  terrifying  Madame  Claes,  to  whom  the  sight 
was  now  intolerable,  and  who  had  all  along  re- 
proached herself  a  thousand  times  while  she  admired 
the  Flemish  loyalty  which  kept  her  husband  faithful 
to  his  promise. 


126  The  Alkahest. 

At  last,  one  day  when  Balthazar  seemed  more  de« 
pressed  than  ever,  she  hesitated  no  longer ;  she  resolved 
to  sacrifice  everything  and  bring  him  back  to  life. 

"  Dear  friend,"  she  said,  "  I  release  you  from  your 
promise." 

Balthazar  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  your  researches,  are  you  not?" 
she  continued. 

He  answered  by  a  gesture  of  startling  eagerness.  Far 
from  remonstrating,  Madame  Claes,  who  had  had  leisure 
to  sound  the  abyss  into  which  they  were  about  to  fall 
together,  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it,  smiling. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said;  "now  I  am  sure  of  my 
power.  You  sacrificed  more  than  3-our  life  to  me.  In 
future,  be  the  sacrifices  mine.  Though  I  have  sold 
some  of  my  diamonds,  enough  are  left,  with  those  my 
brother  gave  me,  to  get  the  necessary  money  for  3'our 
experiments.  I  intended  those  jewels  for  my  daugh- 
ters, but  your  glory  shall  sparkle  in  their  stead  ;  and, 
besides,  you  will  some  day  replace  them  with  other  and 
finer  diamonds." 

The  joy  that  suddenly  lighted  her  husband's  face  was 
like  a  death-knell  to  the  wife :  she  saw,  with  anguish, 
that  the  man's  passion  was  stronger  than  himself 
Claes  had  faith  in  his  work  which  enabled  him  to  walk 
without  faltering  on  a  path  which,  to  his  wife,  was  the 
edge  of  a  precipice.     For  him  faith,  for  her  doubt, — ■ 


The  Alkahest.  127 

for  her  the  heavier  burden :  does  not  the  woman 
ever  suffer  for  the  two?  At  this  moment  she  chose 
to  believe  in  his  success,  that  she  might  justify  to 
herself  her  connivance  in  the  probable  wreck  of  Uicir 
fortunes. 

"  The  love  of  all  m}-  life  can  be  no  recomiK'nse  for 
your  devotion,  Pepita,"  said  Claes,  deeply  moved. 

He  had  scarce! v  uttered  the  words  when  Mareruerito 
and  Felicie  entered  the  room  and  wished  him  gooil- 
morning.  Madame  Claes  lowered  her  e3'es  anil  re- 
mained for  a  moment  speechless  in  presence  of  her 
children,  whose  future  she  had  just  sacrificed  to  a  de- 
lusion ;  her  husband,  on  the  contrary,  took  them  on  his 
knees,  and  talked  to  them  gayl}',  delighted  to  give  vent 
to  the  joy  that  choked  him. 

From  this  day  Madame  Claes  shared  the  impassioned 
life  of  her  husband.  The  future  of  her  children,  their 
father's  credit,  were  two  motives  as  powerful  to  her  as 
glory  and  science  were  to  Claes.  After  the  diamonds 
were  sold  in  Paris,  and  the  purchase  of  chemicals  was 
again  begun,  the  unhappy  woman  never  knew  another 
hour's  peace  of  mind.  The  demon  of  Science  and  the 
frenzy  of  research  which  consumed  her  husbaml  now 
agitated  her  own  mind  ;  she  lived  in  a  state  of  contin- 
ual  expectation,  and  sat  half-lifeless  for  days  together 
in  the  deep  armchair,  paralyzed  by  the  very  violence 
of  her  wishes,  which,  finding  no  food,   like  those  of 


128  The  Alkahest. 

Balthazar,  in  the  daily  hopes  of  the  laboratory,  tor- 
mented her  spirit  and  aggravated  her  doubts  and  fears. 
Sometimes,  blaming  herself  for  compliance  with  a  pas- 
sion whose  object  was  futile  and  condemned  by  the 
Church,  she  would  rise,  go  to  the  window  on  the  court- 
yard and  gaze  with  terror  at  the  chimney  of  the  labora- 
tory. If  the  smoke  were  rising,  an  expression  of  despair 
came  into  her  face,  a  conflict  of  thoughts  and  feelings 
raged  in  her  heart  and  mind.  She  beheld  her  child- 
ren's future  fleeing  in  that  smoke,  but  —  was  she  not 
saving  their  father's  life?  was  it  not  her  first  duty  to 
make  him  happy?  This  last  thought  calmed  her  for  a 
moment. 

She  obtained  the  right  to  enter  the  laboratory  and 
remain  there ;  but  even  this  melancholy  satisfaction 
was  soon  renounced.  Her  sufferings  were  too  keen 
when  she  saw  that  Balthazar  took  no  notice  of  her,  or 
seemed  at  times  annoyed  by  her  presence  ;  in  that  fatal 
place  she  went  through  paroxysms  of  jealous  impa- 
tience, angry  desires  to  destro3^  the  building,  —  a  living 
death  of  untold  miseries.  Lemulquinier  became  to  her 
a  species  of  barometer :  if  she  heard  him  whistle  as  he 
laid  the  breakfast-table  or  the  dinner-table,  she  guessed 
that  Balthazar's  experiments  were  satis  factor}',  and 
there  were  prospects  of  a  coming  success ;  if,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  man  were  morose  and  gloomy,  she 
looked  at  him  and  trembled,  —  Balthazar  must  surely  b« 


The  Alkahest.  1-29 

dissatisfied.  Mistress  and  valet  ended  bv  nndcrstand- 
ing  each  other,  notwithstanding  the  proud  reson-e  of 
the  one  and  the  reluctant  submission  of  the  other. 

Feeble  and  defenceless  against  the  terrible  prostra- 
tions of  thought,  the  poor  woman  at  last  gave  way 
under  the  alternations  of  hope  and  despair  wliich  in- 
creased the  distress  of  the  loving  wife,  and  the  anxieties 
of  the  mother  trembling  for  her  children.  She  now 
practised  the  doleful  silence  which  formerly  chilled  her 
heart,  not  observing  the  gloom  that  per\aded  the  house, 
where  whole  days  went  by  in  that  melancholy  parlor 
without  a  smile,  often  without  a  word.  Led  by  sad 
maternal  foresight,  she  trained  her  daughters  to  house- 
hold work,  and  tried  to  make  them  skilful  in  womanly 
employments,  that  they  might  have  the  means  of  living 
if  destitution  came.  The  outward  calm  of  this  quiet 
home  covered  terrible  agitations.  Towards  the  end  of 
the  summer  Balthazar  had  used  the  money  derived  from 
the  diamonds,  and  was  twent}'  thousand  francs  in  debt 
to  Messieurs  Protcz  and  Chiffreville. 

In  August,  1813,  about  a  year  after  the  scene  with 
which  this  history'  begins,  although  Claes  had  made  a 
few  valuable  experiments,  for  which,  unfortuuati'ly.  he 
cared  but  little,  his  efforts  had  been  without  result  as  to 
the  real  object  of  his  researches.  There  came  a  ilay 
when  he  ended  the  whole  series  of  experiments,  and  the 
sense  of  his  impotence  crushed  him ;  the  certainty  oi 

9 


130  The  Alkahest. 

having  fruitlessly  wasted  enormous  sums  of  money 
drove  him  to  despair.  It  was  a  frightful  catastrophe. 
He  left  the  garret,  descended  slowly  to  the  parlor,  and 
threw  himself  into  a  chair  in  the  midst  of  his  children, 
remaining  motionless  for  some  minutes  as  though  dead, 
making  no  answer  to  the  questions  his  wife  pressed 
upon  him.  Tears  came  at  last  to  his  relief,  and  he 
rushed  to  his  own  chamber  that  no  one  might  witness 
his  despair. 

Josephine  followed  him  and  drew  him  into  her  own 
room,  where,  alone  with  her,  Balthazar  gave  vent  to 
his  anguish.  These  tears  of  a  man,  these  broken  words 
of  the  hopeless  toiler,  these  bitter  regrets  of  the  husband 
and  father,  did  Madame  Claes  more  harm  than  all  her 
past  sufferings.  The  victim  consoled  the  executioner. 
When  Balthazar  said  to  her  in  a  tone  of  dreadful  con- 
viction :  "  I  am  a  wretch ;  I  have  gambled  away  the 
lives  of  m}'  children,  and  your  life ;  you  can  have  no 
happiness  unless  I  kill  myself,"  —  the  words  struck 
home  to  her  heart;  she  knew  her  husband's  nature 
enough  to  fear  he  might  at  once  act  out  the  despairing 
wish :  an  inward  convulsion,  disturbing  the  very  sources 
of  life  itself,  seized  her,  and  was  all  the  more  dangerous 
because  she  controlled  its  violent  effects  beneath  a  de- 
ceptive calm  of  manner. 

"  My  friend,"  she  said,  "  I  have  consulted,  not  Pier- 
quin,  whose  friendship  does  not  hinder  him  from  feeling 


The  Alkahest.  131 

some  secret  satisfaction  at  our  ruin,  but  an  old  man 
who  has  been  as  good  to  me  as  a  father.  The  Abbe-  de 
Solis,  m}-  confessor,  has  shown  me  how  we  can  still 
save  ourselves  from  ruin.  lie  came  to  see  the  ijittures. 
The  value  of  those  in  the  gallery  is  enough  to  pa\-  the 
sums  you  have  borrowed  on  your  property,  and  also  all 
that  you  owe  to  Messieurs  Protez  and  Chiffreville,  who 
have  no  doubt  an  account  against  you." 

Claes  made  an  affirmative  sign  and  bowed  his  hoad, 
the  hair  of  which  was  now  white. 

"  Monsieur  de  Solis  knows  the  Happc  and  Dunckcr 
families  of  Amsterdam  ;  they  have  a  mania  for  pictures, 
and  are  anxious,  like  all  parvenus,  to  display  a  luxury 
which  ought  to  belong  only  to  the  old  families :  he 
thinks  the}'  will  pay  the  full  value  of  ours.  By  this 
means  we  can  recover  our  independence,  and  out  of  the 
purchase  money,  which  will  amount  to  over  one  hundred 
thousand  ducats,  you  will  have  enough  to  continue  the 
experiments.  Your  daughters  and  I  will  be  contA^nt 
with  very  little ;  we  can  fill  up  the  empty  frames  with 
other  pictures  in  course  of  time  and  by  economy : 
meantime  yo\x  will  be  happy." 

Balthazar  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  his  wife  with 
a  joy  that  was  mingled  with  fear.  Their  roles  were 
changed.  The  wife  was  the  protector  of  the  husband. 
He,  so  tender,  he,  whose  heart  was  so  at  one  with  liis 
Pepita's,  now  held  her  in  his  arms  without  perceiving  the 


132  The  Alkahest. 

horrible  convulsion  that  made  her  palpitate,  and  even 
shook  her  hair  and  her  lips  with  a  nervous  shudder. 

"  I  dared  not  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  that  between  me 
and  the  Unconditioned,  the  Absolute,  scarcely  a  hair's 
breadth  intervenes.  To  gasify  metals,  I  only  need  to 
find  the  means  of  submitting  them  to  intense  heat  in 
some  centre  where  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere  is 
nil,  —  in  short,  in  a  vacuum." 

Madame  Claiis  could  not  endure  the  egotism  of  this 
repl3^  She  expected  a  passionate  acknowledgment  of 
her  sacrifices  —  she  received  a  problem  in  chemistr}' ! 
The  poor  woman  left  her  husband  abruptly  and  returned 
to  the  parlor,  where  she  fell  into  a  chair  between  her 
frightened  daughters,  and  burst  into  tears.  Marguerite 
and  Felicie  took  her  hands,  kneeling  one  on  each  side 
of  her,  not  knowing  the  cause  of  her  grief,  and  asking 
at  intervals,  "  Mother,  what  is  it?  '* 

"  My  poor  children,  I  am  dying ;  I  feel  it." 

The  answer  struck  home  to  Marguerite's  heart ;  she 
saw,  for  the  first  time  on  her  mother's  face,  the  signs 
of  that  peculiar  pallor  which  only  comes  on  olive-tinted 
skins. 

"Martha,  Martha!"  cried  Felicie,  "come  quickly; 
mamma  wants  you." 

The  old  duenna  ran  in  from  the  kitchen,  and  as  soon 
as  she  saw  the  livid  hue  of  the  dusky  skin  usually  high- 
colored,  she  cried  out  in  Spanish,  — 


The  Alkahest.  I33 

"  Body  of  Christ !  madame  is  dvin*' !  " 

Then  she  rushed  precipitately  back,  told  Josettc  to 
heat  water  for  a  footbath,  and  returned  to  the  parlor. 

"  Don't  alarm  Monsieur  Claes  ;  say  nothing  to  him, 
Martha,"  said  her  mistress.  "  My  ix)or  dear  girls," 
she  added,  pressing  Marguerite  and  Felicie  to  her  heart 
with  a  despairing  action  ;  "  I  wish  I  could  live  lonir 
enough  to  see  you  married  and  happy.  JSlartha,"  she 
continued,  "tell  Lemulquinier  to  go  to  Monsieur  de 
Solis  and  ask  him  in  my  name  to  come  here." 

The  shock  of  this  attack  extended  to  the  kitchen. 
Josette  and  Martha,  both  devoted  to  Madame  Clacs 
and  her  daughters,  felt  the  blow  in  their  own  affections. 
Martha's  dreadful  announcement,  —  "Madame  is  dy- 
ing ;  monsieur  must  have  killed  her ;  get  ready  a 
mustard-bath,"  —  forced  certain  exclamations  from 
Josette,  which  she  launched  at  Lemulquinier.  He.  cold 
and  impassive,  went  on  eating  at  the  corner  of  a  table 
before  one  of  the  windows  of  the  kitchen,  where  all  was 
kept  as  clean  as  the  boudoir  of  a  fine  lady. 

"  I  knew  how  it  would  end,"  said  Josette,  glancing 
at  the  valet  and  mounting  a  stool  to  take  down  a  cop- 
per kettle  that  shone  like  gold.  "There's  no  motht-r 
could  quietly  stand  by  and  see  a  father  amusing  himself 
by  chopping  up  a  fortune  like  his  into  sausage-meat" 

Josette,  whose  head  was  covered  by  a  round  cap  with 
crimped  borders,  which  made  it  look  like  a  German 


134  The  Alkahest. 

nut-cracker,  cast  a  sour  look  at  Lemulquinier,  which 
the  greenish  tinge  of  her  prominent  little  ej-es  made 
almost  venomous.  The  old  valet  shrugged  his  shoulders 
with  a  motion  worth}'  of  Mirabeau  when  irritated  ;  then 
he  filled  his  large  mouth  with  bread  and  butter  sprinkled 
with  chopped  onion. 

"  Instead  of  thwarting  monsieur,  madame  ought  to 
give  him  more  money,"  he  said ;  "  and  then  we  should 
soon  be  rich  enough  to  swim  in  gold.  There  's  not  the 
thickness  of  a  farthing  between  us  and  —  " 

"  Well,  you  've  got  twentj'  thousand  francs  laid  by  ; 
whj'  don't  3'ou  give  'em  to  monsieur  ?  he  's  your  master, 
and  if  j'ou  are  so  sure  of  his  doings  —  " 

"  You  don't  know  anj^thing  about  them,  Josette. 
Mind  your  pots  and  pans,  and  heat  the  water,"  re- 
marked the  old  Fleming,  interrupting  the  cook. 

"  I  know  enough  to  know  there  used  to  be  several 
thousand  ounces  of  silver-ware  about  this  house  which 
you  and  your  master  have  melted  up ;  and  if  j'ou  are 
allowed  to  have  your  way,  3'ou'll  make  ducks  and 
drakes  of  everj-thing  till  there 's  nothing  left." 

"And  monsieur,"  added  Martha,  entering  the  kitchen, 
"  will  kill  madame,  just  to  get  rid  of  a  woman  who  re- 
strains him  and  won't  let  him  swallow  up  everything 
he 's  got.  He 's  possessed  by  the  devil ;  anybody'  can 
see  that.  You  don't  risk  your  soul  in  helping  him, 
Mulquinier,   because  you  have  n't  got  any ;    look  at 


The  Alkahest.  I35 

you !  sitting  there  like  a  bit  of  ice  when  we  are  aU 
in  such  distress;  the  young  ladies  are  crving  like 
two  Magdalens.  Go  and  fetch  Monsieur  TAbbe  de 
Solis." 

"  I've  got  something  to  do  for  monsieur.  He  told 
me  to  put  the  laboratory  in  order,"  saiil  the  valet 
"Besides,  it's  too  far  —  go  yourself." 

"  Just  hear  the  brute  ! "  cried  Martha.  "  Pray  who 
is  to  give  madame  her  foot-bath?  do  you  want  her  to 
die?  she  has  got  a  rush  of  blood  to  the  head." 

"  Mulquinier,"  said  Marguente,  coming  into  the  ser- 
vants'  hall,  which  adjoined  the  kitchen,  "  on  your  way 
back  from  Monsieur  de  Solis,  call  at  Dr.  Pierquin'a 
house  and  ask  him  to  come  here  at  once." 

"  Ha !  you  've  got  to  go  now,"  said  Josette. 

"  Mademoiselle,  monsieur  told  me  to  put  the  labora- 
tory in  order,"  said  Lemulquinier,  facing  the  two  women 
and  looking  them  down,  with  a  despotic  air. 

"Father,"  said  Marguerite,  to  Monsieur  Clacs,  who 
was  just  then  descending  the  stairs,  "  can  you  let  Mul- 
quinier do  an  errand  for  us  in  town  ?  " 

"  Now  you  're  forced  to  go,  you  old  barbarian  I  "  cried 
Martha,  as  she  heard  Monsieur  Claes  put  Mulquinier 
at  his  daughter's  bidding. 

The  lack  of  good-will  and  devotion  shown  by  the  old 
valet  for  the  family  whom  he  served  was  a  fruitful  causo 
of  quarrel  between  the  two  women  and  Lemulquinier, 


136  The  Alkahest. 

whose  cold-heartedness  had  the  effect  of  increasing  the 
loyal  attachment  of  Josette  and  the  old  duenna. 

This  dispute,  apparently  so  paltrj^,  was  destined  to 
influence  the  future  of  the  Claes  family  when,  at  a  later 
period,  they  needed  succor  in  misfortune. 


The  Alkahest.  187 


VIII. 

Balthazar  was  again  so  absorbed  that  he  did  not 
notice  Josephine's  condition.  He  took  Jean  upon  his 
knee  and  trotted  him  mechanicall\',  pondering,  no 
doubt,  the  problem  he  now  had  the  means  of  solving. 
He  saw  them  bring  the  footbath  to  his  wife,  who  was 
still  in  the  parlor,  too  weak  to  rise  from  the  low  chair 
in  which  she  was  l3'ing ;  he  gazed  abstractedly  at  his 
daughters  now  attending  on  their  mother,  without  in- 
quiring the  cause  of  their  tender  solicitude.  When 
Marguerite  or  Jean  attempted  to  speak  aloud,  Ma- 
dame Claes  hushed  them  and  pointed  to  Balthazar. 
Such  a  scene  was  of  a  nature  to  make  a  young  girl 
think ;  and  Marguerite,  placed  as  she  was  between 
her  father  and  mother,  was  old  enough  and  sensible 
enough  to  weigh  their  conduct. 

There  comes  a  moment  in  the  private  life  of  every 
famil}'  when  the  children,  voluntarily  or  involuntarily, 
judge  their  parents.  Madame  Claes  foresaw  the  dan- 
gers of  that  moment.  Her  love  for  Balthazar  impelled 
her  to  justify  in  Marguerite's  eyes  conduct  that  might, 


138  The  Alkahest. 

to  the  upright  mind  of  a  girl  of  sixteen,  seem  faulty  in 
a  father.  The  verj'  respect  which  she  showed  at  this 
moment  for  her  husband,  making  herself  and  her  con- 
dition of  no  account  that  nothing  might  disturb  his 
meditation,  impressed  her  children  with  a  sort  of  awe 
of  the  paternal  majesty.  Such  self-devotion,  however 
infectious  it  might  be,  only  increased  Marguerite's  ad- 
miration for  her  mother,  to  whom  she  was  more  par- 
ticularly bound  by  the  close  intimacy  of  their  daily  lives. 
This  feeling  was  based  on  the  intuitive  perception  of 
sufferings  whose  causes  naturally  occupied  the  young 
girl's  mind.  No  human  power  could  have  hindered 
some  chance  word  dropped  by  Martha,  or  by  Josette, 
from  enlightening  her  as  to  the  real  reasons  for  the 
condition  of  her  home  during  the  last  four  years.  Not- 
withstanding Madame  Claes's  reserve.  Marguerite  dis- 
covered slowl}',  thread  by  thread,  the  clue  to  the 
domestic  drama.  She  was  soon  to  be  her  mother's 
active  confidante,  and  later,  under  other  cu'cumstances, 
a  formidable  judge. 

Madame  Claes's  watchful  care  now  centred  upon  her 
eldest  daughter,  to  whom  she  endeavored  to  communi- 
cate her  own  self-devotion  towards  Balthazar.  The 
firmness  and  sound  judgment  which  she  recognized  in 
the  young  girl  made  her  tremble  at  the  thought  of  a 
possible  struggle  between  father  and  daughter  when- 
ever her  own  death  should  make  the  latter  mistress  of 


The  Alkahest.  139 

the  household.  The  poor  woman  had  reached  a  [>o\ui 
where  she  dreaded  the  consequences  of  her  death  far 
more  than  death  itself.  Her  tender  solicitude  for  Bal- 
thazar showed  itself  in  the  resolution  she  had  this  dav 
taken.  B\-  freeing  his  property  from  incumbrance  she 
secured  his  independence,  and  prevented  all  future  dis- 
putes b}^  separating  his  interests  from  lliose  of  her 
children.  She  hoped  to  see  him  happy  until  she  closeil 
her  eyes  on  earth,  and  she  studied  to  transmit  the  ten- 
derness of  her  own  heart  to  that  of  Marcrueritc,  trustiii<T 
that  his  daughter  might  continue  to  be  to  him  an  angel 
of  love,  while  exercising  over  the  family  a  protecting 
and  conservative  authority.  Might  she  not  thus  shed 
the  light  of  her  love  upon  her  dear  ones  from  bej-ond  the 
grave  ?  Nevertheless,  she  was  not  willing  to  lower  the 
father  in  the  e^'cs  of  his  daughter  b}'  initiating  her 
into  the  secret  dangers  of  his  scientific  passion  before 
it  became  necessary  to  do  so.  She  studied  Marguerite's 
soul  and  character,  seeking  to  discover  if  the  girl's  own 
nature  would  lead  her  to  be  a  mother  to  her  brothers 
and  her  sister,  and  a  tender,  gentle  helpmeet  to  her 
father. 

Madame  Claes's  last  days  were  thus  embittered  l»y 
fears  and  mental  disquietudes  which  she  dared  not  con- 
fide to  others.  Conscious  that  the  recent  scene  had 
struck  her  death-blow,  she  turned  her  thoughts  wholly 
to  the  future.     Balthazar,  meanwhile,  now  permanently 


140  The  Alkahest 

unfitted  for  the  care  of  property  or  the  interests  of  do 

mestie  life,  thought  only  of  the  Absolute. 

The  heavy  silence  that  reigned  in  the  parlor  was 
broken  only  by  the  monotonous  beating  of  Balthazar's 
foot,  which  he  continued  to  trot,  wholly  unaware  that 
Jean  had  slid  from  his  knee.  Marguerite,  who  was 
sitting  beside  her  mother  and  watching  the  changes  on 
that  pallid,  convulsed  face,  turned  now  and  again  to 
her  father,  wondering  at  his  indifference.  Presently 
the  street-door  clanged,  and  the  family  saw  the  Abb^ 
de  Solis  leaning  on  the  arm  of  his  nephew  and  slowly 
crossing  the  court-yard. 

"  Ah  !  there  is  Monsieur  Emmanuel,"  said  Felicie. 

"  That  good  young  man  ! "  exclaimed  Madame  Claes ; 
"  I  am  glad  to  welcome  him." 

Marguerite  blushed  at  the  praise  that  escaped  her 
mother's  lips.  For  the  last  two  days  a  remembrance 
of  the  3'oung  man  had  stirred  mysterious  feelings  in  her 
heart,  and  wakened  in  her  mind  thoughts  that  had  lain 
dormant.  During  the  visit  made  by  the  Abbe  de  Soha 
to  Madame  Claes  on  the  occasion  of  his  examining  the 
pictures,  there  happened  certain  of  those  imperceptible 
events  which  wield  so  great  an  influence  upon  life  :  and 
their  results  were  sufficientl}'  important  to  necessitate  a 
brief  sketch  of  the  two  personages  now  first  introduced 
into  the  history  of  this  familj'. 

It  was  a  matter  of  principle  with  Madame  Clatis  to 


The  Alkahest.  141 

perform  tbe  duties  of  her  religion  privately  Her  cod- 
fessor,  who  wag  almost  unknown  in  the  famUy,  now 
entered  the  house  for  the  second  time  only ;  but  thtre, 
as  elsewhere,  every  one  was  impressed  with  a  sort  of 
tender  admiration  at  the  aspect  of  the  uude  and  his 
nephew. 

The  Abb^  de  Soils  was  an  octogenarian,  with  silvery 
hair,  and  a  withered  face  from  which  the  vitality  seemed 
to  have  retreated  to  the  eyes.     He  walked  with  dUli- 
culty,  for  one  of  his  shrunken  legs  ended  in  a  painfully 
deformed  foot,  which  was  cased  in  a  species  of  velvet 
bag,  and  obliged  him  to  use  a  crutch  when  the  arm  of 
his  nephew  was  not  at  hand.     His  bent  figure  and  de- 
crepit body  conveyed  the  impression  of  a  delicate,  sulFer- 
ing  nature,  governed  by  a  will  of  u-on  and  the  spirit  of 
religious  purity.    This  Spanish  priest,  who  was  remark- 
able for  his  vast  learning,  his  sincere  piety,  and  a  wide 
knowledge  of  men  and  things,  had  been  successively  a 
Dominican  friar,  the  grand  phiitencier  of  Toledo,  and 
the  vicar-general  of  the  archbishopric  of  Malines.     If 
the  French  Revolution  had  not  intervened,  the  influence 
of  the  Casa-Real  family  would  have  made  him  one  of 
the  highest  dignitaries  of  the  Church  ;  but  the  grief  he 
felt  for  the  death  of  the  young  duke,  Madame  Claes's 
brother,  who  had  been  his  pupil,  turned  him  from  active 
life,  and  he  now  devoted  himself  to  the  education  of  his 
nephew,  who  was  made  an  orphan  at  an  early  age. 


142  The  Alkahest. 

After  the  conquest  of  Belgium,  the  Abb^  de  Solis 
settled  at  Douai  to  be  near  Madame  Claes.  From  his 
youth  up  he  had  professed  an  enthusiasm  for  Saint 
Theresa  which,  together  with  the  natural  bent  of  his 
mind,  led  him  to  the  mj^stical  side  of  Christianit3\ 
Finding  in  Flanders,  where  Mademoiselle  Bourignon 
and  the  writings  of  the  Quietists  and  Illuminati  made 
the  greatest  number  of  prosel3"tes,  a  flock  of  Catholics 
devoted  to  those  ideas,  he  remained  there,  —  all  the 
more  willingl}-  because  he  was  looked  up  to  as  a  patri- 
arch by  this  particular  communion,  which  continued  to 
follow  the  doctrines  of  the  Mj-stics  notwithstanding 
the  censures  of  the  Church  upon  Fenelon  and  Madame 
Guyon.  His  morals  were  rigid,  his  life  exemplary,  and 
he  was  believed  to  have  visions.  In  spite  of  his  own 
detachment  from  the  things  of  life,  his  aflection  for  his 
nephew  made  him  careful  of  the  young  man's  interests. 
When  a  work  of  charity  was  to  be  done,  the  old  abbe 
put  the  faithful  of  his  flock  under  contribution  before 
having  recourse  to  his  own  means  ;  and  his  patriarchal 
authority  was  so  well  established,  his  motives  so  pure, 
his  discernment  so  rarely  at  fault,  that  every  one  was 
read}'^  to  answer  his  appeal.  To  give  an  idea  of  the 
contrast  between  the  uncle  and  the  nephew,  we  may 
compare  the  old  man  to  a  willow  on  the  borders  of  a 
stream,  hollowed  to  a  skeleton  and  barel}'  alive,  and  the 
young  man  to  a  sweet-brier  clustering  with  roses,  whose 


The  Alkahest.  I43 

erect  and  graceful  stems  spring  up  about  the  hoary 
trunk  of  the  old  tree  as  if  they  would  support  it. 

Emmanuel  de  Solis,  rigidly  brought  up  by  his  u„de, 
who  kept  him  at  his  side  as  a  mother  keeps  her  daugh- 
ter, was  full  of  delicate  sensibility,  of  half-dreamy  1„- 
nocence,  —those  fleeting  flowers  of  youth  which  bloom 
perennially  in  souls  that  are  nourished  on  religious  prin- 
ciples.    The  old  priest  had  checked  all  sensuous  emo- 
tions  in  his  pupil,  preparing  him  for  the  trials  of  life  by 
constant  study  and  a  discipUne  that  was  almost  clois- 
teral.     Such   an   education,   which   would   hmnoh   the 
youth  unstained  upon  the  world  and  render  him  happy, 
provided  he  were  fortunate  in  his  earliest  affections, 
bad  endowed  him  with  a  purity  of  spirit  which  gave  to 
his  person   something  of  the  charm  that  surrounds  a 
maiden.     His  modest  eyes,  veiling  a  strong  and  cou- 
rageous soul,  sent  forth  a  light  that  vibrated  in  the 
soul  as  the  tones  of  a  crystal  bell  sound  their  undula- 
tions on  the  ear.     His  face,  though  regular,  was  ex- 
pressive, and  charmed  the  eye  with  its  clear-cut  outline, 
the  harmony  of  its  lines,  and  the  perfect  repose  which 
came  of  a  heart  at  peace.     All  was  harmonious.     His 
black  hair,  his  brown  eyes  and  eyebrows,  heightened 
the  efl!ect  of  a  white  skin  and  a  brilliant  color.     His 
voice  was  such  as  might  have  been  expected  from  his 
beautiful  face ;  and  something  feminine  in  his  move- 
ments accorded  well  with  the  melody  of  its  tones  and 


144  The  Alkahest. 

with  the  tender  brightness  of  his  eyes.  He  seemed  un- 
aware of  the  charm  he  exercised  by  his  modest  silence, 
the  half-melancholy  reserve  of  his  manner,  and  the  re- 
spectful attentions  he  paid  to  his  uncle. 

Those  who  saw  the  young  man  as  he  watched  the  un- 
certain steps  of  the  old  abb^,  and  altered  his  own  to  suit 
their  devious  course,  looking  for  obstructions  that  might 
trip  his  uncle's  feet  and  guiding  him  to  a  smoother  way, 
could  not  fail  to  recognize  in  Emmanuel  de  Solis  the 
generous  nature  which  makes  the  human  being  a  divine 
creation.  There  was  something  noble  in  the  love  that 
never  criticised  his  uncle,  in  the  obedience  that  never 
cavilled  at  the  old  man's  orders ;  it  seemed  as  though 
there  were  prophecy  in  the  gracious  name  his  godmother 
had  given  him.  When  the  abbe  gave  proof  of  his  Do- 
minican despotism,  in  their  own  home  or  in  the  presence 
of  others,  Emmanuel  would  sometimes  lift  his  head  with 
so  much  dignity,  as  if  to  assert  his  metal  should  any 
other  man  assail  him,  that  men  of  honor  were  moved 
at  the  sight  like  artists  before  a  glorious  picture  ;  for 
noble  sentiments  ring  as  loudly  in  the  soul  from  living 
incarnations  as  from  the  imagery  of  art. 

Emmanuel  had  accompanied  his  uncle  when  the  latter 
came  to  examine  the  pictures  of  the  House  of  Claes. 
Hearing  from  Martha  that  the  Abbe  de  Solis  was  in  the 
gallery.  Marguerite,  anxious  to  see  so  celebrated  a  man, 
invented  an  excuse  to  join  her  mother  and  gratify  her 


The  Alkahest.  \\ 


o 


curiosity.  Entering  hastily,  witli  the  heedless  gaycty 
young  gii-ls  assume  at  times  to  hide  their  wishes,  she 
encountered  near  the  old  abbe,  clothed  in  black  and 
looking  decrepit  and  cadaverous,  the  fresh,  delii^btful 
face  of  a  young  man.  The  naive  glances  of  the  youth- 
ful pair  expressed  their  mutual  astonishment.  Mar- 
guerite and  Emmanuel  had  no  doubt  seen  each  other 
in  their  dreams.  Both  lowered  their  eyes  and  raised 
them  again  with  one  impulse;  each,  by  the  action, 
made  the  same  avowal.  Marguerite  took  her  mother's 
arm,  and  spoke  to  her  to  cover  her  confusion  and  find 
shelter  under  the  maternal  wing,  turning  her  neck  with 
a  swan-like  motion  to  keep  sight  of  Emmanuel,  who 
still  supported  his  uncle  on  his  arm.  The  light  was 
cleverly  arranged  to  give  due  value  to  the  pictures,  and 
the  half-obscuritj'  of  the  galler}-  encouraged  those  fur- 
tive glances  which  are  the  joy  of  timid  natures.  Neither 
went  so  far,  even  in  thought,  as  the  first  note  of  love ; 
yet  both  felt  the  mysterious  trouble  which  stirs  the 
heart,  and  is  jealousl}'  kept  secret  in  our  youth  from 
fastidiousness  or  modest}'. 

The  first  impression  which  forces  a  sensibility  hitherto 
suppressed  to  overflow  its  borders,  is  followed  in  all 
j-oung  people  by  the  same  half-stupefied  amazement 
which  the  first  sounds  of  music  produce  upon  a  child. 
Some  children  laugh  and  think  ;  others  do  not  laugli  till 
they  have  thought ;  but  those  whose  hearts  arc  called  to 

10 


146  The  Alkahest. 

Uve  by  poetry  or  love,  listen  stilly  and  hear  the  melody 
with  a  look  where  pleasure  flames  already,  and  the 
search  for  the  infinite  begins.  If,  from  an  irresistible 
feeling,  we  love  the  places  where  our  childhood  first 
perceived  the  beauties  of  harmony,  if  we  remember  with 
delight  the  musician,  and  even  the  instrument,  that 
taught  them  to  us,  how  much  more  shall  we  love  the 
being  who  reveals  to  us  the  music  of  life?  The  first 
heart  in  which  we  draw  the  breath  of  love,  —  is  it  not 
our  home,  our  native  land  ?  Marguerite  and  Emmanuel 
were,  each  to  each,  that  Voice  of  music  which  wakes  a 
sense,  that  hand  which  lifts  the  misty  veil,  and  reveals 
the  distant  shores  bathed  in  the  fires  of  noonday. 

When  Madame  Claes  paused  before  a  picture  by 
Guido  representing  an  angel.  Marguerite  bent  forward 
to  see  the  impression  it  made  upon  Emmanuel,  and 
Emmanuel  looked  at  Marguerite  to  compare  the  mute 
thought  on  the  canvas  with  the  living  thought  beside 
him.  This  involuntary  and  delightful  homage  was  un- 
derstood and  treasured.  The  old  abbe  gravely  praised 
the  picture,  and  Madame  Claes  answered  him,  but  the 
youth  and  the  maiden  were  silent. 

Such  was  their  first  meeting :  the  mysterious  light  of 
the  picture  gallery,  the  stillness  of  the  old  house,  the 
presence  of  their  elders,  all  contributed  to  trace  upon 
their  hearts  the  delicate  lines  of  this  vaporous  mirage. 
The  manj'  confused  thoughts  that  surged  in  Marguerite's 


The  Alkahest.  147 

mind  grew  calm  and  lay  like  a  limpid  ocean  traversed 
by  a  luminous  ray  when  Emmanuel  murmured  a  few 
farewell  words  to  Madame  Claes.  That  voice,  whoso 
fresh  and  mellow  tone  sent  nameless  delights  into  her 
heart,  completed  the  revelation  that  had  come  to  her, 
—  a  revelation  which  Emmanuel,  were  he  able,  should 
cherish  to  his  own  profit ;  for  it  often  happens  that  the 
man  whom  destiny  employs  to  waken  love  in  the  heart 
of  a  young  girl  is  ignorant  of  his  work  and  leaves  it 
unfinished.  Marguerite  bowed  confusedh* ;  her  true 
farewell  was  in  the  glance  which  seemed  unwilling  to 
lose  so  pure  and  lovelj'  a  vision.  Like  a  chikl  she 
wanted  her  melod^'.  Their  parting  took  place  at  the 
foot  of  the  old  staircase  near  the  parlor ;  and  when 
Marguerite  re-entered  the  room  she  watched  the  uncle 
and  the  nephew  till  the  street-door  closed  upon  thciu. 

Madame  Claes  had  been  so  occupied  with  the  serious 
matters  which  caused  her  conference  with  the  abbt-  that 
she  did  not  on  this  occasion  observe  her  daughter's 
manner.  When  Monsieur  de  Solis  came  again  to  tlie 
house  on  the  occasion  of  her  illness,  she  was  too  vio- 
lently agitated  to  notice  the  color  tliat  rushed  into  Mar- 
guerite's face  and  betrayed  the  tumult  of  a  virgin  heart 
conscious  of  its  first  joy.  By  the  time  the  old  abbe  was 
announced,  Marguerite  had  taken  up  her  sewing  and  ai>- 
peared  to  give  it  such  attention  that  she  bowed  to  the 
uncle  and  nephew  without  looking  at  them.     Monsieur 


148  The  Alkahest. 

Claes  mechanically  returned  their  salatation  and  left 
the  room  with  the  air  of  a  man  called  away  by  his 
occupations.  The  good  Dominican  sat  down  beside 
Madame  Claes  and  looked  at  her  with  one  of  those 
searching  glances  by  which  he  penetrated  the  minds  of 
others ;  the  sight  of  Monsieur  Claes  and  his  wife  was 
enough  to  make  him  aware  of  a  catastrophe. 

"  My  children,"  said  the  mother,  "  go  into  the 
garden ;  Marguerite,  show  Emmanuel  your  father's 
tulips." 

Marguerite,  half  abashed,  took  F^licie's  arm  and 
looked  at  the  young  man,  who  blushed  and  caught  up 
little  Jean  to  cover  his  confusion.  When  all  four  were 
in  the  garden,  Felicie  and  Jean  ran  to  the  other  side, 
leaving  Marguerite,  who,  conscious  that  she  was  alone 
with  young  de  Soils,  led  him  to  the  pyramid  of  tulips, 
aiTanged  precisely  in  the  same  manner  year  after  year 
by  Lemulquinier. 

"  Do  you  love  tulips?"  asked  Marguerite, after  stand- 
ing for  a  moment  in  deep  silence,  —  a  silence  Emmanuel 
seemed  Uttle  disposed  to  break. 

"  Mademoiselle,  these  flowers  are  beautiful,  but  to 
love  them  we  must  perhaps  have  a  taste  for  them,  and 
know  how  to  understand  their  beauties.  They  dazzle 
me.  Constant  study  in  the  gloomy  little  chamber  in 
which  I  live,  close  to  my  uncle,  makes  me  prefer  those 
flowers  that  are  softer  to  the  e^'e." 


The  Alkahett.  149 

Saying  these  words  he  glanced  at  Marguerite ;  but 
Ihe  look,  full  as  it  was  of  confused  desires,  contaancd 
no  allusion  to  the  lily  whiteness,  the  sweet  serenity,  the 
tender  coloring  which  made  her  face  a  flower. 

"Do  you  work  very  hard?"  she  asked,  leading  him 
to  a  wooden  seat  with  a  back,  painted  green.  "  Here," 
she  continued,  "  the  tulips  are  not  so  close ;  they  wUl 
not  tire  j'our  eyes.  Yes,  you  are  right,  those  colors  are 
dazzling  ;  they  give  pain." 

"Do  I  work  hard?"  replied  the  young  man  after  a 
short  sOence,  as  he  smoothed  the  gravel  with  his  foot. 
"Yes;  I  work  at  many  things.  My  uncle  wished  to 
make  me  a  priest." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Marguerite,  naively. 

"I  resisted;  I  felt  no  vocation  for  it.  But  it  re- 
quired great  courage  to  oppose  my  uncle's  wishes.  lie 
is  so  good,  he  loves  me  so  much !  Quite  recently  he 
bought  a  substitute  to  save  me  from  the  conscription  — 
me,  a  poor  orphan  !  " 

"What  do  you  mean  to  be?"  asked  Marguerite; 
then,  immediately  checking  herself  as  though  she  would 
unsay  the  words,  she  added  with  a  pretty  gesture,  "  I 
beg  your  pardon  ;  3'ou  must  think  me  very  inquisitive." 

"Oh,  mademoiselle,"  said  Emmanuel,  looking  at  her 
with  tender  admiration,  "except  my  uncle,  no  one  ever 
asked  me  that  question.  I  am  studying  to  be  a 
teacher.     I  cannot  do  otherwise;  I  am  not  rich.     If 


150  The  Alkahest. 

I  were  principal  of  a  college-school  in  Flanders  I 
should  earn  enough  to  live  moderatel}-,  and  I  might 
marry  some  simple  woman  whom  I  could  love.  That 
is  the  life  I  look  forward  to.  Perhaps  that  is  why  I 
prefer  a  daisy  in  the  meadows  to  these  splendid  tulips, 
whose  purple  and  gold  and  rubies  and  amethysts  be- 
token a  life  of  luxury,  just  as  the  daisy  is  emblematic 
of  a  sweet  and  patriarchal  life, — the  Hfe  of  a  poor 
teacher  like  me." 

"  I  have  always  called  the  daisies  marguerites,"  she 
said. 

Emmanuel  colored  deeply  and  sought  an  answer 
from  the  sand  at  his  feet.  Embarrassed  to  choose 
among  the  thoughts  that  came  to  him,  which  he  feared 
were  silly,  and  disconcerted  by  his  delay  in  answering, 
he  said  at  last,  "  I  dai-ed  not  pronounce  your  name" 
—  then  he  paused. 

"  A  teacher?  "  she  said. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  shall  be  a  teacher  only  as  a  means 
of  living :  I  shall  undertake  great  works  which  will 
make  me  nobly  useful.  I  have  a  strong  taste  for  his- 
torical researches." 

"  Ah !  " 

That  "  ah  !  "  so  full  of  secret  thoughts  added  to  his 
confusion  ;  he  gave  a  foolish  laugh  and  said  :  — 

"  You  make  me  talk  of  myself  when  I  ought  only 
to  speak  of  you." 


The  Alkahest.  151 

"  Mj  mother  and  your  uncle  must  Lave  finisheil  their 
conversation,  I  think,"  said  Marguerite,  lookiuir  UMo 
the  parlor  through  the  windows. 

"  Your  mother  seems  to  me  greatly  changed,"  said 
Emmanuel. 

"  She  suffers,  but  she  will  not  U'll  us  the  cause 
of  her  sufferings ;  and  we  can  only  try  to  share  them 
•with  her." 

Madame  Claes  had,  in  fact,  just  ended  a  delicate  con- 
sultation which  involved  a  case  of  conscience  tlie  Ahlnj 
de  Solis  alone  could  decide.  Foreseeing  the  utter  ruin 
of  the  family,  she  wished  to  retain,  unknown  to  Hal- 
thazar  who  paid  no  attention  to  his  business  affairs, 
part  of  the  price  of  the  pictures  which  Monsieur  de 
Solis  had  undertaken  to  sell  in  Holland,  inti'uding  to 
hold  it  secretly  in  reserve  against  the  day  when  j)ov- 
erty  should  overtake  her  children.  AN'ith  much  delib- 
eration, and  after  weighing  every  circumstance,  the  old 
Dominican  approved  the  act  as  one  of  prudence.  He 
took  his  leave  to  prepare  at  once  for  the  sale,  which  he 
engaged  to  make  secretly,  so  as  not  to  injure  Monsieur 
Claes  in  the  estimation  of  others. 

The  next  day  Monsieur  de  Solis  despatched  his  nephew, 
armed  with  letters  of  introduction,  to  Amsterdam,  where 
Emmanuel,  delighted  to  do  a  service  to  the  Claes  family, 
succeeded  in  selling  all  the  pictures  in  the  gallery  to  the 
noted  bankers  Happe  and  Duncker  for  the  osteujuibl^ 


152  The  Alkahest. 

sum  of  eighty-five  thousand  Dutch  ducats  and  fifteen 
thousand  more  which  were  paid  over  secretly  to  Ma- 
dame Claes.  The  pictures  were  so  well  known  that 
nothing  was  needed  to  complete  the  sale  but  an  answer 
from  Balthazar  to  the  letter  which  Messieurs  Happe 
and  Duncker  addressed  to  him.  Emmanuel  de  Solis 
was  commissioned  by  Claes  to  receive  the  price  of 
the  pictures,  which  were  thereupon  packed  and  sent 
away  secretl}',  to  conceal  the  sale  from  the  people  of 
Douai, 

Towards  the  end  of  September,  Balthazar  paid  off  all 
the  sums  that  he  had  borrowed,  released  his  property 
from  encumbrance,  and  resumed  his  chemical  researches  ; 
but  the  House  of  Claes  was  deprived  of  its  noblest  orna- 
ment. Blinded  by  his  passion,  the  master  showed  no 
regret ;  he  felt  so  sure  of  repairing  the  loss  that  in  sell- 
ing the  pictures  he  reserved  a  right  of  redemption.  In 
Josephine's  eyes  a  hundred  pictures  were  as  nothing 
compared  to  domestic  happiness  and  the  satisfaction 
of  her  husband's  mind ;  moreover,  she  refilled  the  gal- 
ler}'  with  other  paintings,  taken  from  the  reception- 
rooms,  and  to  conceal  the  gaps  which  these  left  in 
the  front  house,  she  changed  the  arrangement  of  the 
furniture. 

When  Balthazar's  debts  were  all  paid  he  had  about 
two  hundred  thousand  francs  with  which  to  carry  on 
his  experiments.     The  Abbe  de  Solis  and  his  nephew 


The  Alkahest.  I53 

took  charge  secretly  of  the  fifteen  thousand  ducats  re- 
served  by  Madame  Claes.  To  increase  that  sum,  the 
Abb^  sold  the  Dutch  ducats,  to  which  the  events  of  the 
Continental  war  had  given  a  commercial  value.  One 
hundred  and  sixty-five  thousand  francs  were  buried  in 
the  cellar  of  the  house  in  which  the  abbe  and  his  nephew 
resided. 

Madame  Claes  had  the  melancholy  happiness  of  see- 
ing her  husband  incessantly  busy  and  satisfied  for  nearly 
eight  months.  But  the  shock  he  had  lately  given  her 
was  too  severe ;  she  sank  into  a  state  of  languor  and 
debiUty  which  steadily  increased.  Balthazar  was  now 
so  completely  absorbed  in  science  that  neither  the  re- 
verses which  had  overtaken  France,  nor  the  first  full 
of  Napoleon,  nor  the  return  of  the  Bourbons,  drew  him 
from  his  laboratory' ;  he  was  neither  husband,  father, 
nor  citizen,  —  solely  chemist. 

Towards  the  close  of  1814  Madame  Claes  declined 
so  rapidl}'  that  she  was  no  longer  able  to  leave  her  bed. 
Unwilling  to  vegetate  in  her  own  chamber,  the  scene 
of  so  much  happiness,  where  the  memory  of  vanished 
joys  forced  involuntary  comparisons  with  the  present 
and  depressed  her,  she  moved  into  the  parlor.  The 
doctors  encouraged  this  wish  by  declaring  the  room 
more  air}',  more  cheerful,  and  therefore  better  suited 
to  her  condition.  The  bed  in  which  the  unfortunate 
woman  ended  her  life  was  placed  between  the  fireplace 


154  The  Alkahest. 

and  a  window  looking  on  tlie  garden.  There  she  passed 
her  last  da^'s,  sacredly  occupied  in  training  the  souls  of 
her  young  daughters,  striving  to  leave  within  them  the 
fire  of  her  own.  Conjugal  love,  deprived  of  its  mani- 
festations, allowed  maternal  love  to  have  its  vfny.  The 
mother  now  seemed  the  more  delightful  because  her 
motherhood  had  blossomed  late.  Like  all  generous 
persons,  she  passed  through  sensitive  phases  of  feeling 
which  she  mistook  for  remorse.  Believing  that  she  had 
defrauded  her  children  of  the  tenderness  that  should 
have  been  theirs,  she  sought  to  redeem  those  imaginary 
wrongs  ;  bestowing  attentions  and  tender  cares  which 
made  her  precious  to  them  ;  she  longed  to  make  her 
children  live,  as  it  were,  within  her  heart ;  to  shelter 
them  beneath  her  feeble  wings  ;  to  cherish  them  enough 
in  the  few  remaining  days  to  redeem  the  time  during 
which  she  had  neglected  them.  The  sufferings  of  her 
mind  gave  to  her  words  and  her  caresses  a  glowing 
warmth  that  issued  from  her  soul.  Her  eyes  caressed 
her  children,  her  voice  with  its  yearning  intonations 
touched  their  hearts,  her  hand  showered  blessings  on 
their  heads. 


The  Alkahest.  155 


IX 


The  good  people  of  Douai  were  not  surprised  that 
visitors  were  no  longer  received  at  the  House  of  Clai-s, 
and  that  Balthazar  gave  no  more  fetes  on  the  auniver- 
sar}'  of  his  marriage.  Madame  Claes's  state  of  health 
seemed  a  sufficient  reason  for  the  change,  and  thu 
pa3'ment  of  her  husband's  debts  put  a  stop  to  the  cur- 
rent gossip ;  moreover,  the  political  vicissitudes  to 
which  Flanders  was  subjected,  the  war  of  the  llundred- 
da3s,  and  the  occupation  of  the  Allied  armies,  put  the 
chemist  and  his  researches  completel}*  out  of  people's 
minds.  During  those  two  years  Douai  was  so  often  on 
the  point  of  being  taken,  it  was  so  constantly  occupied 
either  by  the  French  or  b}'  the  enemy,  so  many  foreign- 
ers came  there,  so  many  of  the  country-people  sought 
refuge  within  its  walls,  so  many  lives  were  in  peril,  so 
many  catastrophes  occun-ed,  that  each  man  thought  only 
of  himself. 

The  Abbe  de  Soils  and  his  nephew,  and  the  two 
Pierquins,  doctor  and  lawyer,  were  the  only  persons 
who  now  visited  Madame  Claes ;  for  whom  the  wiuUr 
of  1814-1815  was  a  long  and  dreary  death-scene.     Her 


156  The  Alkahest. 

husband  rarely  came  to  see  her.  It  is  true  that  after 
dinner  he  remained  some  hours  in  the  parlor,  near  her 
bed  ;  but  as  she  no  longer  had  the  strength  to  keep  up 
a  conversation,  he  merely  said  a  few  words,  invariably 
the  same,  sat  down,  spoke  no  more,  and  a  dreary 
silence  settled  down  upon  the  room.  The  monotony 
of  this  existence  was  broken  only  on  the  days  when  the 
Abbe  de  SoUs  and  his  nephew  passed  the  evening  with 
Madame  Claes. 

While  the  abb^  played  backgammon  with  Balthazar, 
Marguerite  talked  with  Emmanuel  by  the  bedside  of  her 
mother,  who  smiled  at  their  innocent  joy,  not  allowing 
them  to  see  how  painful  and  yet  how  soothing  to  her 
wounded  spirit  were  the  fresh  breezes  of  their  virgin  love, 
murmuring  in  fitful  words  from  heart  to  heart.  The  in- 
flection of  their  voices,  to  them  so  full  of  charm,  to  her 
was  heart-breaking  ;  a  glance  of  mutual  understanding 
surprised  between  the  two  threw  her,  half-dead  as  she 
was,  back  to  the  young  and  happy  past  which  gave  such 
bitterness  to  the  present.  Emmanuel  and  Marguerite 
with  intuitive  delicacy  of  feeling  repressed  the  sweet 
half-childish  play  of  love,  lest  it  should  hurt  the  saddened 
woman  whose  wounds  they  instinctively  divined. 

No  one  has  yet  remarked  that  feelings  have  an  exist- 
ence of  their  own,  a  nature  which  is  developed  by  the 
circumstances  that  environ  them,  and  in  which  they  are 
born  ;  they  bear  a  likeness  to  the  places  of  their  growth, 


The  Alkahest.  I57 

and  keep  the  imprint  of  the  ideas  that  influenced  their 
development.  There  are  passions  artlently  eonceivo<l 
which  remain  ardent,  like  that  of  Madame  Clacs  for  her 
husband:  there  are  sentiments  on  which  all  life  has 
smiled;  these  retain  their  spring-time  gayctv,  their 
harvest-time  of  joy,  seasons  that  never  fail  of  lau.'h- 
ter  or  of  fetes :  but  there  are  other  loves,  framed  in 
melancholy,  circled  by  distress,  whose  pleasures  are 
painful,  costly,  burdened  by  fears,  poisoned  by  remorse, 
or  blackened  by  despair.  The  love  in  the  heart  of 
Marguerite  and  Emmanuel,  as  yet  unknown  to  thoui 
for  love,  the  sentiment  that  budded  into  life  beneath 
the  gloomy  arches  of  the  picture-gallery,  beside  tlie 
stern  old  abbe,  in  a  still  and  silent  moment,  that  love 
so  grave  and  so  discreet,  yet  rich  in  tender  depths,  in 
secret  delights  that  were  luscious  to  the  taste  as  stolen 
grapes  snatched  from  a  corner  of  the  vineyard,  wore 
in  coming  years  the  sombre  browns  and  grays  that 
surrounded  the  hour  of  its  birth. 

Fearing  to  give  expression  to  their  feelings  beside 
that  bed  of  pain,  they  unconsciously  increased  their 
happiness  by  a  concentration  which  deepened  its  im- 
print on  their  hearts.  The  devotion  of  the  daughter, 
shared  bj-  Emmanuel,  happy  in  thus  uniting  hinisilf 
with  Marguerite  and  becoming  b}-  anticipation  the  son 
of  her  mother,  was  their  medium  of  communication. 
Melancholy  thanks  from  the  lips  of  the  young  girl  sup 


158  The  Alkahest. 

planted  the  honeyed  language  of  lovers  ;  the  sighing  of 
their  hearts,  surcharged  with  joy  at  some  interchange 
of  looks,  was  scarcely  distinguishable  from  the  sighs 
wrung  from  them  by  the  mother's  sufferings.  Their 
happy  little  moments  of  indirect  avowal,  of  unuttered 
promises,  of  smothered  effusion,  were  like  the  allegories 
of  Raphael  painted  on  a  black  gi'ound.  Each  felt  a 
certainty  that  neither  avowed  ;  the}'  knew  the  sun  was 
shining  over  them,  but  they  could  not  know  what  wind 
might  chase  awa}'  the  clouds  that  gathered  about  their 
heads.  The}'  doubted  the  future ;  fearing  that  pain 
would  ever  follow  them,  they  stayed  timidly'  among  the 
shadows  of  the  twilight,  not  daring  to  say  to  each 
other,  "Shall  we  end  our  days  together?" 

The  tenderness  which  Madame  Claes  now  testified 
for  her  children  noblv  concealed  much  that  she  en- 
deavored  to  hide  from  herself  Her  children  caused 
her  neither  fear  nor  passionate  emotion  :  they  were  her 
comforters,  but  the}^  were  not  her  life  :  she  lived  by 
them  ;  she  died  through  Balthazar.  However  painful 
lier  husband's  presence  might  be  to  her,  lost  as  he  was 
for  hours  together  in  depths  of  thought  from  which  he 
looked  at  her  without  seeing  her,  it  was  only  during 
those  cruel  moments  that  she  forgot  her  griefs.  His  in- 
difference to  the  dving  woman  would  have  seemed  crim- 
inal  to  a  stranger,  but  Madame  Claes  and  her  daughters 
were  accustomed  to  it ;  they  knew  his  heart  and  they 


The  Alkahest.  159 

forgave  him.  If,  during  the  daytime,  JosOphine  was 
seized  by  some  sudden  iUness,  if  she  were  worse  and 
seemed  near  dying,  Claes  was  the  only  person  in  the 
house  or  in  the  town  who  remained  ignorant  of  it. 
Lemulquinier  knew  it,  but  neither  the  daughters,  bound 
to  silence  by  their  mother,  nor  Josephine  herself  let 
Balthazar  know  the  danger  of  the  being  he  had  once 
so  passionately  loved. 

When  his  heavy  step  sounded  in  the  gallery  as  he 
came  to  dinner,  Madame  Clai-s  was  happy  —  she  was 
about  to  see  him !  and  she  gathered  up  her  strength  for 
that  happiness.  As  he  entered,  the  pallid  face  blushed 
brightly  and  recovered  for  an  instant  the  semblance  of 
health.  Balthazar  came  to  her  bedside,  took  her  hand, 
saw  the  misleading  color  on  her  cheek,  and  to  him  she 
seemed  well.  When  he  asked,  "M}-  dear  wife,  how 
are  j'ou  to-daj'?"  she  answered,  "  Better,  dear  friend," 
and  made  him  think  she  would  be  up  and  recovered 
on  the  morrow.  His  preoccupation  was  so  great  that  he 
accepted  this  reply,  and  believed  the  illness  of  which 
his  wife  was  dying  a  mere  indisposition.  Dying  to  the 
eyes  of  the  world,  in  his  alone  she  was  living. 

A  complete  separation  between  husband  and  wife 
was  the  result  of  this  year.  Claiis  slept  in  a  distant 
chamber,  got  up  early  in  the  morning,  and  shut  himsflf 
into  his  laboratory  or  his  study.  Seeing  his  wife  only 
in  presence  of  his   daughters  or  of  the  two  or  three 


160  The  Alkahest. 

friends  who  came  to  visit  them,  he  lost  the  habit  of 
communicating  with  her.  These  two  beings,  formerly 
accustomed  to  think  as  one,  no  longer,  unless  at  rare 
intervals,  enjoyed  those  moments  of  communion,  of 
passionate  unreserve  which  feed  the  life  of  the  heart ; 
and  finally  there  came  a  time  when  even  these  rare 
pleasures  ceased.  Physical  suffering  was  now  a  boon  to 
the  poor  woman,  helping  her  to  endure  the  void  of  sep- 
aration, which  might  have  killed  her  had  she  been  truly 
living.  Her  bodily  pain  became  so  great  that  there  were 
times  when  she  was  joyful  in  the  thought  that  he  whom 
she  loved  was  not  a  witness  of  it.  She  lay  watching 
Balthazar  in  the  evening  hours,  and  knowing  him  happy 
in  his  own  way,  she  lived  in  the  happiness  she  had  pro- 
cured for  him,  —  a  shadow}^  joy,  and  yet  it  satisfied  her. 
She  no  longer  asked  herself  if  she  were  loved,  she  forced 
herself  to  believe  it ;  and  she  glided  over  that  icy  surface, 
not  daring  to  rest  her  weight  upon  it  lest  it  should  break 
and  drown  her  soul  in  a  gulf  of  awful  nothingness. 

No  events  stirred  the  calm  of  this  existence ;  the 
malady  that  was  slowly  consuming  Madame  Claes 
added  to  the  household  stillness,  and  in  this  condition 
of  passive  gloom  the  House  of  Claes  reached  the  first 
weeks  of  the  year  1816.  Pierquin,  the  lawyer,  was 
destined,  at  the  close  of  February,  to  strike  the  death- 
blow of  the  angeUc  woman  who,  in  the  words  of  the 
Abbe  de  Solis,  was  wellnigh  without  sin. 


TJie  Alkahest.  Itil 

"  Madame,"  said  Pierquin,  seiziug  a  moment  when 
her  daughters  could  not  hear  the  conversation.  •'  Mon- 
sieur Claes  has  directed  me  to  borrow  three  hundrcil 
thousand  francs  on  his  property.  You  must  do  some- 
thing to  protect  the  future  of  your  children." 

Madame  Claes  clasped  her  hands  and  raised  her  eyes 
to  the  ceiling ;  then  she  thanked  the  notary  with  ii  sud 
smile  and  a  kindly  motion  of  her  head  which  ttlTcctc-d 
him. 

His  words  were  the  stab  that  killed  her.  Duriuir 
that  day  she  had  yielded  herself  up  to  sad  reflections 
which  swelled  her  heart;  she  was  like  the  wixyfurer 
walking  beside  a  precipice  who  loses  his  balance  and 
a  mere  pebble  rolls  him  to  the  depth  of  the  abyss  he 
has  so  long  and  so  courageously  skirted.  When  the 
notary  left  her,  Madame  Claes  told  Marguerite  to  bring 
writing  materials ;  then  she  gathered  up  her  remaining 
strength  to  write  her  last  wishes.  Several  times  she 
paused  and  looked  at  her  daughter.  The  hour  of  con- 
fidence had  come. 

Marguerite's  management  of  the  household  since  her 

mother's    illness    had    so    ampl}'   fuKilled    the    dying 

woman's  hopes   that  Madame  Claes  was  able  to  look 

upon  the  future  of  the  family  without  absolute  despair, 

confident  that  she  herself  would  live  again  in  this  strong 

and  loving  angel.    Both  women  felt,  no  doubt,  that  sad 

and  mutual  confidences  must  be   now  made   between 

11 


162  The  Alkahest. 

them  ;  the  daughter  looked  at  the  mother,  the  mother 
at  the  daughter,  tears  flowing  from  their  ej^es.  Several 
times,  as  Madame  Claes  rested  from  her  writing,  Mar- 
guerite said  :  "  Mother?"  then  she  stopped  as  if  click- 
ing ;  but  the  mother,  occupied  with  her  last  thoughts, 
did  not  ask  the  meaning  of  the  interrogation.  At  last, 
Madame  Claes  wished  to  seal  the  letter ;  Marguerite 
held  the  taper,  turning  aside  her  head  that  she  might 
not  see  the  superscription. 

"  You  can  read  it,  my  child,"  said  the  mother,  in  a 
heart-rending  voice. 

The  young  girl  read  the  words,  "To  my  daughter 
Marguerite." 

"  We  will  talk  to  each  other  after  I  have  rested 
awhile."  said  Madame  Claes,  putting  the  letter  under 
her  pillow. 

Then  she  fell  back  as  if  exhausted  by  the  effort,  and 
slept  for  several  hours.  When  she  woke,  her  two 
daughters  and  her  two  sons  were  kneeling  by  her  bed 
and  praj'ing.  It  was  Thursdaj'.  Gabriel  and  Jean  had 
been  brought  from  school  by  Emmanuel  de  Solis,  who 
for  the  last  six  months  was  professor  of  history  and 
philosophy. 

"  Dear  children,  we  must  part!"  she  cried.  "You 
have  never  forsaken  me,  never !  and  he  who  — " 

She  stopped. 

"  Monsieur  Emmanuel,"  said  Marguerite,  seeing  the 


The  Alkahest.  163 

pallor  on  her  mother's  face,  "  go  to  my  father,  and  toll 
him  mamma  is  worse." 

Young  de  Solis  went  to  the  door  of  the  laboratory 
and  persuaded  Lemulquinier  to  make  Balthazar  come 
and  speak  to  him.  On  hearing  the  urgent  request  of 
the  j-oung  man,  Claes  answered,  "  I  will  come." 

"  Emmanuel,"  said  Madame  Claes  when  he  retunu'd 
to  her,  "  take  my  sons  away,  and  bring  your  uncle  here. 
It  is  time  to  give  me  the  last  sacraments,  and  1  wish  to 
receive  them  from  his  hand." 

When  she  was  alone  with  her  daughters  she  made  a 
sign  to  Marguerite,  who  understood  her  and  sent  Ki'licie 
aw  a}'. 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  myself,  dear  mam- 
ma," said  Marguerite  who,  not  believing  her  mother  so 
ill  as  she  really  was,  increased  the  wound  Pierquin  had 
given.  "I  have  had  no  money  for  the  household  ex- 
penses during  the  last  ten  da3's ;  I  owe  six  months' 
wages  to  the  servants.  Twice  I  have  tried  to  ask  mv 
father  for  money,  but  did  not  dare  to  do  so.  You  don't 
know,  perhaps,  that  all  the  pictures  in  the  gallery  have 
been  sold,  and  all  the  wines  in  the  cellar?" 

"He  never  told  me!"  exclaimed  Madame  Claiis. 
"My  God!  thou  callest  me  to  thyself  in  time!  My 
poor  children  !  what  will  become  of  them  ?  " 

She  made  a  fer\'ent  praj'er,  which  brought  the  fires 
of  repentance  to  her  eyes. 


164  The  Alkahest. 

"  Marguerite,"  she  resumed,  drawing  the  letter  from 
her  pillow,  "here  is  a  paper  which  you  must  not  open 
or  read  until  a  time,  after  my  death,  when  some  great 
disaster  has  overtaken  you ;  when,  in  short,  you  are 
without  the  means  of  living.  My  dear  Marguerite,  love 
your  father,  but  take  care  of  your  brothers  and  your 
sister.  In  a  few  days,  in  a  few  hours  perhaps,  you  will 
be  the  head  of  this  household.  Be  economical.  Should 
you  find  yourself  opposed  to  the  wishes  of  your  father, 

—  and  it  may  so  happen,  because  he  has  spent  vast 
sums  in  searching  for  a  secret  whose  discovery  is  to 
bring  glory  and  wealth  to  his  family,  and  he  will  no 
doubt  need  mone}',  perhaps  he  may  demand  it  of  you, — 
should  that  time  come,  treat  him  with  the  tenderness  of 
a  daughter,  strive  to  reconcile  the  interests  of  which  3'ou 
will  be  the  sole  protector  with  the  duty  which  you  owe  to 
a  father,  to  a  great  man  who  has  sacrificed  his  happiness 
and  his  life  to  the  glory  of  his  family ;  he  can  only  do 
wrong  in  act,  his  intentions  are  noble,  his  heart  is  full  of 
love  ;  you  will  see  him  once  more  kind  and  affectionate 

—  You  !  Marguerite,  it  is  my  duty  to  say  these  words  to 
you  on  the  borders  of  the  grave.  If  you  wish  to  soften 
the  anguish  of  my  death,  promise  me,  my  child,  to  take 
my  place  beside  your  father;  to  cause  him  no  grief; 
never  to  reproach  him  ;  never  to  condemn  him.  Be  a 
gentle,  considerate  guardian  of  the  home  until  —  his  work 
accomplished  —  he  is  again  the  master  of  his  family." 


The  Alkahest.  1(J5 

"I  understand  you,  dear  mother,"  said  Marguerite, 
kissing  the  swollen  eyelids  of  the  dying  woman.  ••  I 
will  do  as  you  wish." 

"  Do  not  maiTy,  my  darling,  until  Gabriel  can  succeed 
you  in  the  management  of  the  property  and  the  house- 
hold. If  you  married,  your  husband  might  not  share 
your  feelings,  he  might  bring  trouble  into  the  family 
and  disturb  your  father's  life." 

Marguerite  looked  at  her  mother  and  said,  ••  Have 
you  nothing  else  to  say  to  me  about  my  marriage? " 

"Can  j-ou  hesitate,  my  child?"  cried  the  dying 
woman  in  alarm. 

"  No,"  the  daughter  answered ;  "  I  promise  to  obey 
you." 

"  Poor  gii-1 !  I  did  not  sacrifice  myself  for  you,"  said 
the  mother,  shedding  hot  tears.  "Yet  I  ask  you  to  sac- 
rifice j'ourself  for  all.  Happiness  makes  us  selfish.  Yes, 
Marguerite,  I  have  been  weak  because  I  was  happy.  lie 
strong  ;  preserve  your  own  good  sense  to  guard  others 
who  as  yet  have  none.  Act  so  that  your  brothers  and 
your  sister  may  not  reproach  my  memory.  Love  3'our 
father,  and  do  not  oppose  him  —  too  much." 

She  laid  her  head  on  her  pillow  and  said  no  more ; 
her  strength  was  gone ;  the  inward  struggle  between 
the  "Wife  and  the  Mother  had  been  too  violent. 

A  few  moments  later  the  clergy-  came,  preceded  by 
the  Abbe  de  Soils,  and  the  parlor  was  filled  by  the 


166  The  Alkahest. 

children  and  the  household.  When  the  ceremony  was 
about  to  begin,  Madame  Claes,  awakened  by  her  con- 
fessor, looked  about  her  and  not  seeing  Balthazar  said 
quickly,  — 

"  Where  is  my  husband?  " 

The  woi'ds  —  summing  up,  as  it  were,  her  life  and 
her  death  —  were  uttered  in  such  lamentable  tones  that 
all  present  shuddered.  Martha,  in  spite  of  her  great 
age,  darted  out  of  the  room,  ran  up  the  staircase  and 
through  the  galler}',  and  knocked  loudly  on  the  door  of 
the  laborator}'. 

"  Monsieur,  madame  is  dying ;  they  are  waiting  for 
you,  to  administer  the  last  sacraments,"  she  cried  with 
the  violence  of  indignation. 

"  I  am  coming,"  answered  Balthazar. 

Lemulquinier  came  down  a  moment  later,  and  said 
his  master  was  following  him.  Madame  Claes's  ej'es 
never  left  the  parlor  door,  but  her  husband  did  not  ap- 
pear until  the  ceremony  was  over.  When  at  last  he 
entered,  Josephine  colored  and  a  few  tears  rolled  down 
her  cheeks. 

"Were  you  trying  to  decompose  nitrogen?"  she 
said  to  him  with  an  angelic  tenderness  which  made  the 
spectators  quiver. 

"  I  have  done  it !  "  he  cried  joyfull}' ;  "  Nitrogen  con- 
tains oxj'gen  and  a  substance  of  the  nature  of  imponder- 
able matter,  which  is  apparently  the  principle  of — " 


Tlie  Alkahest.  167 

A  rnunuur  of  horror  interrupted  bis  words  aud  brought 
him  to  his  senses. 

"What  did  the}'  tell  me?"  he  demanded.  ••  Aro 
you  worse?    What  is  the  matter?" 

"This  is  the  matter,  monsieur,"  whispered  the  AhUI- 
de  Solis,  indignant  at  his  conduct ;  "  your  wife  is  dying, 
and  you  have  killed  her." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  the  abbe  took  the  arm 
of  his  nephew  and  went  out  followed  by  the  family,  who 
accompanied  him  to  the  court-yard.  Balthazar  stocnl  as 
if  thunderstruck  ;  he  looked  at  his  wife,  and  a  few  t«:-ara 
dropped  from  his  e3'es. 

"You  are  dying,  and  I  have  killed  you  I "  he  said. 
"  What  does  he  mean?  " 

"  M3'  husband,"  she  answered,  "  I  only  lived  in  your 
love,  and  j'ou  have  taken  my  life  away  from  me ;  but 
3'ou  knew  not  what  you  did." 

"  Leave  us,"  said  Claes  to  his  children,  who  now  re- 
entered the  room.  "  Have  I  for  one  moment  ceased  to 
love  you?"  he  went  on,  sitting  down  beside  his  wife, 
and  taking  her  hands  and  kissing  them. 

"My  friend,  I  do  not  blame  you.  You  made  nie 
happy  —  too  happy,  for  I  have  not  been  able  to  bear 
the  contrast  between  our  early  married  life,  so  full  of 
joy,  and  these  last  days,  so  desolate,  so  empty,  when 
you  are  not  yourself.  The  life  of  the  heart,  like  llie 
life  of  the  body,  has  its  functions.     For  six  yearn  yt)U 


168  The  Alkahest. 

have  been  dead  to  love,  to  the  famil}',  to  all  that  wai 
once  our  happiness.  I  will  not  speak  of  our  early  mar- 
ried daj's  ;  such  jo^-s  must  cease  in  the  after-time  of  life, 
but  they  ripen  into  fruits  which  feed  the  soul,  —  confi- 
dence unlimited,  the  tender  habits  of  affection :  you  have 
torn  those  treasures  from  me  !  I  go  in  time :  we  live 
together  no  longer ;  j'ou  hide  your  thoughts  and  actions 
from  me.  How  is  it  that  3'ou  fear  me?  Have  I  ever 
given  you  one  word,  one  look,  one  gesture  of  reproach? 
And  yet,  you  have  sold  your  last  pictures,  you  have  sold 
even  the  wine  in  j^our  cellar,  you  are  borrowing  mone}' 
on  3'our  property,  and  have  said  no  word  to  me.  Ah  ! 
I  go  from  life  weary  of  life.  If  you  are  doing  wrong, 
if  you  delude  j^ourself  in  following  the  unattainable, 
have  I  not  shown  you  that  my  love  could  share  your 
faults,  could  walk  beside  you  and  be  happy,  though 
you  led  me  in  the  paths  of  crime  ?  You  loved  me  too 
well,  — that  was  my  glory  ;  it  is  now  my  death.  Bal- 
thazar, m}^  illness  has  lasted  long ;  it  began  on  the  da}'- 
when  here,  in  this  place  where  I  am  about  to  die,  you 
showed  me  that  Science  was  more  to  you  than  Famil}'. 
And  now  the  end  has  come ;  your  wife  is  dying,  and 
your  fortune  lost.  Fortune  and  wife  were  yours,  — 
you  could  do  what  you  willed  with  your  own ;  but  on 
the  day  of  my  death  my  property  goes  to  my  children, 
and  you  cannot  touch  it ;  what  will  then  become  of  you  ? 
I  am  telling  you  the  truth ;  I  owe  it  to  you.     Djing 


The  Alkahest.  169 

eyes  see  far :  when  I  am  gone  will  anything  outweigh 
that  cursed  passion  which  is  now  your  life  ?  If  you  have 
sacrificed  your  wife,  your  children  will  count  but  litUo 
in  the  scale  ;  for  I  must  be  just  and  own  you  lovevl  me 
above  all.  Two  millions  and  six  years  of  toil  you  have 
cast  into  the  gulf,  —  and  what  have  you  found  ? " 

At  these  words  Claes  grasped  his  whitened  head  in 
his  hands  and  hid  his  face. 

"  Humiliation  for  yourself,  misery  for  your  children," 
continued  the  dying  woman.  '>  You  are  called  in  de- 
rision '  Claes  the  alchemist ; '  soon  it  will  be  '  Claes  the 
madman.'  For  myself,  I  believe  in  you.  I  know  you 
great  and  wise  ;  I  know  your  genius  :  but  to  the  vulgar 
eye  genius  is  mania.  Fame  is  a  sun  that  lights  the 
dead  ;  living,  you  will  be  unhappy  with  the  unhappiness 
of  great  minds,  and  your  children  will  be  ruined.  I  go 
before  I  see  your  fame,  which  might  have  brought  me 
■consolation  for  my  lost  happiness.  Oh,  Balthazar ! 
make  my  death  less  bitter  to  me,  let  me  be  certain  that 
my  children  will  not  want  for  bread  —  Ah,  nothing, 
nothing,  not  even  30U,  can  calm  my  fears." 

"  I  swear,"  said  Claes,  "  to  —  " 

"  No,  do  not  swear,  that  you  may  not  fail  of  your 
oath,"  she  said,  interrupting  him.  "  You  owed  us  your 
protection  ;  we  have  been  without  it  seven  years.  Sci- 
ence is  your  life.  A  great  man  should  have  neither 
wife  nor  children ;    he  should  tread  alone  the  path  of 


170  The  Alkahest. 

sacrifice.  His  virtues  are  not  tlie  virtues  of  common 
men  ;  he  belongs  to  the  universe,  he  cannot  belong  to 
wife  or  famih' ;  he  sucks  up  the  moisture  of  the  earth 
about  him,  like  a  majestic  ti'ee  —  and  I,  poor  plant,  I 
could  not  rise  to  the  height  of  3'our  life,  I  die  at  its 
feet.  I  have  waited  for  this  last  da}-  to  tell  you  these 
dreadful  thoughts  :  they  came  to  me  in  the  lightnings  of 
desolation  and  anguish.  Oh,  spare  my  children !  let 
these  words  echo  in  your  heart.  I  cry  them  to  you  with 
my  last  breath.  The  wife  is  dead,  dead ;  you  have 
stripped  her  slowly,  gradually,  of  her  feelings,  of  her 
joys.  Alas  !  without  that  cruel  care  could  I  have  lived 
so  long?  But  those  poor  children  did  not  forsake  me  ! 
they  have  grown  beside  my  anguish,  the  mother  still 
survives.     Spare  them  I     Spare  my  children  !  " 

"  Lemulquinier  !  "  cried  Claes  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 

The  old  man  appeared. 

"Go  up  and  destro}'  all  —  instruments,  apparatus, 
everything  !  Be  careful,  but  destroy'  all.  I  renounce 
Science,"  he  said  to  his  wife. 

''  Too  late,"  she  answered,  looking  at  Lemulquinier. 
"  Marguerite  !  "  she  cried,  feeling  herself  about  to  die. 

Marguerite  came  through  the  doorway  and  uttered  a 
piercing  cry  as  she  saw  her  mother's  e3es  now  glazing. 

"  Marguerite  !  "  repeated  the  d3ing  woman. 

The  exclamation  contained  so  powerful  an  appeal 
to  her  daughter,  she  invested  that  appeal  with  such 


The  Alkahest. 


171 


authority,  that  the  cry  was  like  a  dying  bequest  The 
terriQed  family  ran  to  her  side  and  saw  her  ilie  :  the 
vital  forces  were  exhausted  in  that  last  eouversution 
"with  her  husband. 

Balthazar  and  Marguerite  stood  motionless,  she  at 
the  head,  he  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  unable  to  believe  in 
the  death  of  the  woman  whose  virtues  and  exhaustless 
tenderness  were  known  fully  to  them  alone.  Katlier  and 
daughter  exchanged  looks  freighted  with  meaning  :  tlie 
daughter  judged  the  father,  ami  already  tin-  father 
trembled,  foreseeing  in  his  daughter  an  instrument  of 
vengeance.  Though  memories  of  the  love  with  which 
Ms  Pepita  had  filled  his  life  crowded  \\\ion  his  mind, 
and  gave  to  her  dying  words  a  sacred  authority  whose 
voice  his  soul  must  ever  hear,  yet  Balthazar  knew  him- 
self helpless  in  the  grasp  of  his  attendant  genius ;  he 
heard  the  teiTil)le  mutterings  of  his  passion,  denying 
him  the  strength  to  carr^-  his  repentance  into  action  : 
he  feared  himself. 

When  the  grave  had  closed  upon  Madame  Claes,  one 
thought  filled  the  minds  of  all,  —  the  house  had  liad  a 
soul,  and  that  soul  was  now  departed.  The  grief  of  the 
family  was  so  intense  that  the  parlor,  where  the  nol)le 
woman  still  seemed  to  linger,  was  closed ;  no  one  ha<l 
the  courage  to  enter  it. 


172  The  Alkahest. 


X. 


Society  practises  none  of  the  virtues  it  demands  from 
individuals :  every  hour  it  commits  crimes,  but  the 
crimes  are  committed  in  words  ;  it  paves  the  way  for 
evil  actions  with  a  jest ;  it  degrades  nobUity  of  soul 
by  ridicule ;  it  jeers  at  sons  who  mourn  their  fathers, 
anathematizes  those  who  do  not  mourn  them  enough, 
and  finds  diversion  (the  hypocrite !)  in  weighing  the 
dead  bodies  before  they  are  cold. 

The  evening  of  the  day  on  which  Madame  Claes  died, 
her  friends  cast  a  few  flowers  upon  her  memory  in  the 
intervals  of  their  games  of  whist,  doing  homage  to  her 
noble  qualities  as  they  sorted  their  hearts  and  spades. 
Then,  after  a  few  lachrymal  phrases,  —  the  fi,  fo,  fum 
of  collective  grief,  uttered  in  precisely'  the  same  tone, 
and  with  neither  more  nor  less  of  feehng,  at  all  hours 
and  in  every  town  in  France,  —  they  proceeded  to  esti- 
mate the  value  of  her  property.  Pierquin  was  the  first 
to  observe  that  the  death  of  this  excellent  woman  was 
a  mercy,  for  her  husband  had  made  her  unhappy  ;  and 
it  was  even  more  fortunate  for  her  children :  she  was 
unable  while  living  to  refuse  her  money  to  the  husband 


The  Alkahest  17ii 

she  adored ;  but  now  that  she  was  dead,  Claes  was  de- 
barred from  touching  it.  Thereupon  all  present  calcu- 
lated the  fortune  of  that  poor  Madame  Claiis,  wondcrt-d 
how  much  she  had  laid  by  (had  she,  in  fact,  laid  by 
anything?),  made  an  inventory  of  her  jewels,  rummaged 
in  her  warckobe,  peeped  into  her  drawers,  while  Uic 
afflicted  family  were  still  weeping  and  i)raying  around 
her  death-bed. 

Pierquin,  with  an  appraising  eye,  stated  that  Madame 
Claes's  possessions  in  her  own  right  —  to  use  the  no- 
tarial phrase  —  might  still  be  recovered,  and  oiijrht 
to  amount  to  nearly  a  million  and  a  half  of  francs ; 
basing  this  estimate  partly  on  the  forest  of  Waignies,  — 
whose  timber,  counting  the  full-grown  trees,  tlie  sap- 
lings, the  primeval  growths,  and  the  recent  plantations, 
had  immensely  increased  in  value  during  the  last  twelve 
years,  —  and  parti}'  on  Balthazar's  own  property,  of 
which  enough  remained  to  "cover"  the  claims  of  his 
children,  if  the  liquidation  of  their  mother's  fortune  did 
not  jield  sufficient  to  release  him.  jSIademoiselle  Clai-s 
was  still,  in  Pierquin's  slang,  "a  four-hundred-thousand- 
franc  girl."  "  But,"  he  added,  "  if  she  does  n't  marry, 
—  a  step  which  would  of  course  separate  her  interests 
and  permit  us  to  sell  the  forest  at  auction,  and  so  real- 
ize the  property  of  the  minor  children  and  reinvest 
it  where  the  father  can't  lay  hands  on  it,  —  Clai-s  is 
likely  to  ruin  them  all." 


174  The  Alkahest. 

Thereupon,  every bodj'  looked  about  for  some  eligible 
young  man  worthy  to  win  the  hand  of  Mademoiselle 
Claes  ;  but  none  of  them  paid  the  lawj-er  the  compliment 
of  suggesting  that  he  might  be  the  man.  Pierquin,  how- 
ever, found  so  man}'  good  reasons  to  reject  the  suggested 
matches  as  unworthy  of  Marguerite's  position,  that  the 
confabulators  glanced  at  each  other  and  smiled,  and 
took  malicious  pleasure  in  prolonging  this  truly  pro- 
vincial method  of  anno3ance.  Pierquin  had  already 
decided  that  Madame  Claes's  death  would  have  a  favor- 
able eflfect  upon  his  suit,  and  he  began  mentally  to  cut 
up  the.  body  in  his  own  interests. 

"  That  good  woman,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he' went 
home  to  bed,  "•  was  as  proud  as  a  peacock ;  she  would 
never  have  given  me  her  daughter.  He}',  hey !  why 
could  n't  I  manage  matters  now  so  as  to  marry  the  girl  ? 
Pere  Claes  is  drunk  on  carbon,  and  takes  no  care  of  his 
children.  If,  after  convincing  Marguerite  that  she  must 
marry  to  save  the  property  of  her  brothers  and  sister, 
I  were  to  ask  him  for  his  daughter,  he  will  be  glad  to 
get  rid  of  a  girl  who  is  likely  to  thwart  him." 

He  went  to  sleep  anticipating  the  charms  of  the  mar- 
riage contract,  and  reflecting  on  the  advantages  of  the 
step  and  the  guarantees  afforded  for  his  happiness  in 
the  person  he  proposed  to  marry.  In  all  the  provinces 
there  was  certainly  not  a  better  brought-up  or  more  del- 
icately lovely  young  girl  than  Mademoiselle  Claes.    Her 


The  Alkahtst.  I75 

modesty,  her  gi-ace,  were  like  those  of  the  pretty  flower 
Emmanuel  had  feared  to  name  lest  be  sbouUl  Wiray 
the  secret  of  his  heart.  Her  sentiments  were  lofty,  her 
principles  religious,  she  would  undoubtedly  make  him  a 
a  faithful  wife:  moreover,  she  not  only  flattorcd  the 
vanity  which  influences  every  man  more  or  less  in  tlie 
choice  of  a  wife,  but  she  gratified  his  pride  by  tbe  high 
consideration  which  her  family,  doubly  ennobled,  en- 
joyed in  Flanders,  —  a  consideration  which  her  hus- 
band of  course  would  share. 

The  next  day  Pierquin  extracted  from  his  strong-box 
several  thousand-franc  notes,  which  he  oflered  with 
great  friendUness  to  Balthazar,  so  as  to  relieve  him  of 
pecuniary  annoyance  in  tbe  midst  of  his  grief.  Touched 
by  this  delicate  attention,  Balthazar  would,  he  thought, 
praise  his  goodness  and  his  personal  qualities  to  ISIar- 
guerite.  In  this  he  was  mistaken.  Monsieur  Claes 
and  his  daughter  thought  it  was  a  very  natural  action, 
and  their  sorrow  was  too  absorbing  to  let  tlicm  even 
think  of  the  lawj'er. 

Balthazar's  despair  was  indeed  so  great  that  persons 
who  were  disposed  to  blame  his  conduct  could  not  do 
otherwise  than  forgive  him,  — less  on  account  of  the  Sci- 
ence which  might  have  excused  him,  tlian  for  tlie  re- 
morse which  could  not  undo  bis  deeds.  Society  is 
satisfied  b\'  appearances :  it  takes  what  it  gives,  with- 
out considering  the  intrinsic  worth  of  the  article.     To 


176  The  Alkahest. 

the  world  real  suffering  is  a  show,  a  species  of  enjoy- 
ment, which  inclines  it  to  absolve  even  a  criminal ;  in 
its  thirst  for  emotions  it  acquits  without  judging  the 
man  who  raises  a  laugh,  or  he  who  makes  it  weep, 
making  no  inquir}'  into  their  methods. 

Marguerite  was  just  nineteen  when  her  father  put  her 
in  charge  of  the  household  ;  and  her  brothers  and  sister, 
whom  Madame  Claes  in  her  last  moments  exhorted  to 
obey  their  elder  sister,  accepted  her  authority  with  do- 
cility. Her  mourning  attire  heightened  the  dewy  white- 
ness of  her  skin,  just  as  the  sadness  of  her  expression 
threw  into  relief  the  gentleness  and  patience  of  her 
manner.  From  the  first  she  gave  proofs  of  feminine 
courage,  of  inalterable  serenity,  like  that  of  angels  ap- 
pointed to  shed  peace  on  suffering  hearts  by  a  touch 
of  their  waving  palms.  But  although  she  trained  her- 
self, through  a  premature  perception  of  duty,  to  hide 
her  personal  grief,  it  was  none  the  less  bitter ;  her  calm 
exterior  was  not  in  keeping  with  the  deep  trouble  of  her 
thoughts,  and  she  was  destined  to  undergo,  too  early  in 
life,  those  terrible  outbursts  of  feeling  which  no  heart  is 
able  wholly  to  subdue :  her  father  was  to  hold  her  in- 
cessantlj'  under  the  pressure  of  natural  youthful  gen- 
erosity on  the  one  hand,  and  the  dictates  of  imperious 
duty  on  the  other.  The  cares  which  came  upon  her  the 
very  day  of  her  mother's  death  threw  her  into  a  struggle 
with  the  interests  of  life  at  an  age  when  3'oung  girls  are 


The  Alkahest.  177 

thinking  only  of  its  pleasures.     Dreadful  discipline  a' 
suffering,  which  is  never  lacking  to  angelic  natures ! 

The  love  which  rests  on  money  or  on  vanity  is  iho 
most  persevering  of  passions.  Pierquin  resolved  to 
win  the  heiress  without  delay.  A  ft-w  days  aOor  Ma- 
dame Claes's  death  he  took  occasion  to  speak  to  Mar- 
guerite, and  began  operations  with  a  cleverness  which 
might  have  succeeded  if  love  had  not  given  her  the 
power  of  clear  insight  and  saved  her  from  mistaking 
appearances  that  were  all  the  more  specious  because 
Pierquin  displayed  his  natural  kindheartcdness,  —  the 
kindliness  of  a  notary  who  thinks  himself  loving  while 
he  protects  a  client's  money.  Relying  on  his  rather 
distant  relationship  and  his  constant  habit  of  managing 
the  business  and  sharing  the  secrets  of  the  Claiis  family, 
sure  of  the  esteem  and  friendship  of  the  father,  greatly 
assisted  b}-  the  careless  inattention  of  that  servant  of 
science  who  took  no  thought  for  the  marriage  of  his 
daughter,  and  not  suspecting  that  Marguerite  could 
prefer  another,  —  Pierquin  unguardedly  enabled  her  to 
form  a  judgment  on  a  suit  in  which  there  was  no  passion 
except  that  of  self-interest,  always  odious  to  a  young 
soul,  and  which  he  was  not  clever  enough  to  conceal. 
It  was  he  who  on  this  occasion  was  naively  above- 
board,  it  was  she  who  dissimulated,  —  simply  because 
he  thought  he  was  deaUng  with  a  defenceless  girl,  and 

whollj'  misconceived  the  privileges  of  weakness. 

12 


178  The  Alkahest. 

"  My  dear  cousin,"  he  said  to  Marguerite,  with  whom 
he  was  walking  about  the  paths  of  the  little  garden, 
' '  you  know  my  heart,  you  understand  how  truly  I 
desire  to  respect  the  painful  feelings  which  absorb  you 
at  this  moment.  I  have  too  sensitive  a  nature  for  a 
lawj'er  ;  I  live  by  my  heart  only,  I  am  forced  to  spend 
my  time  on  the  interests  of  others  when  I  would  fain  let 
m3self  enjoy  the  sweet  emotions  which  make  life  happ}'. 
I  suffer  deeply  in  being  obliged  to  talk  to  you  of  sub- 
jects so  discordant  with  your  state  of  mind,  but  it  is 
necessary.  I  have  thought  much  about  j'ou  during  the 
last  few  da3-s.  It  is  evident  that  through  a  fatal  delu- 
sion the  fortune  of  jour  brothers  and  sister  and  3'our 
own  are  in  jeopardy.  Do  3'ou  wish  to  save  your  family 
from  complete  ruin?" 

''What  must  I  do?"  she  asked,  half- frightened  by 
his  words. 

"  Marry,"  answered  Pierquin. 

"  I  shall  not  marry,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  3'ou  will  marry,"  replied  the  notary,  "  when 
you  have  soberty  thought  over  the  critical  position  in 
which  you  are  placed." 

"  How  can  m}'  marriage  save  —  '* 

' '  Ah  !  I  knew  30U  would  consider  it,  my  dear  cousin," 
he  exclaimed,  interrupting  h6r.  "  Marriage  will  eman- 
cipate you." 

i  t  ■Wh3-  should  I  be  emancipated  ?  "  asked  Marguerite. 


The  Alkahest.  I79 

''Because  mamage  ivill  put  you  at  once  into  p<». 
session  of  your  property,  n)y  dear  little  cousin,"  said 
the  lawyer  in  a  tone  of  triumph.  "If  you  marry  you 
take  your  share  of  your  mother's  property.  To  give  it 
to  you,  the  whole  property  must  be  liquidated  ;  to  do 
that,  it  becomes  necessary  to  sell  the  forest  of  Waijjniea, 
That  done,  the  proceeds  will  be  capitalized,  and  your 
father,  as  guardian,  will  be  compelled  to  invest  the  for- 
tune of  his  children  in  such  a  wjiy  that  Chemistry  can't 
get  hold  of  it." 

"And  if  I  do  not  marry,  what  will  happen?"  she 
asked. 

"Well,"  said  the  notary,  "your  father  will  manage 
your  estate  as  he  pleases.  If  he  returns  to  making 
gold,  he  will  probably  sell  the  timber  of  the  forest  of 
Waignies  and  leave  his  children  as  naked  as  the  little 
Saint  Johns.  The  forest  is  now  worth  about  fourteen 
hundred  thousand  francs;  but  from  one  day  to  another 
3'ou  are  not  sure  your  father  won't  cut  it  down,  and 
then  your  thirteen  hundred  acres  are  not  worth  three 
hundred  thousand  francs.  Is  n't  it  better  to  avoid  this 
almost  certain  danger  by  at  once  compelling  the  divi- 
sion of  property  on  j'our  marriage?  If  the  forest  is 
sold  now,  while  Chemistry  has  gone  to  sleep,  your 
father  will  put  the  proceeds  on  the  Grand-Livre.  The 
Funds  are  at  59  ;  those  dear  children  will  get  nearly 
five  thousand   francs  a  year  for  every  fifty  thousand 


180  The  Alkahest. 

francs :  and,  inasmuch  as  the  property  of  minors 
cannot  be  sold  out,  your  brothers  and  sister  will 
find  their  fortunes  doubled  in  value  by  the  time  they 
come  of  age.  Whereas,  in  the  other  case,  —  faith, 
no  one  knows  wliat  may  happen :  your  father  has 
alread}'  impaired  your  mother's  property ;  we  shall 
find  out  the  deficit  when  we  come  to  make  the  inven- 
tor}'.  If  he  is  in  debt  to  her  estate,  you  will  take  a 
mortgage  on  his,  and  in  that  way  something  may  be 
recovered  —  " 

"  For  shame  !  "  said  Marguerite.  "  It  would  be  an 
outrage  on  my  father.  It  is  not  so  long  since  my 
mother  uttered  her  last  words  that  I  have  forgotten 
them.  My  father  is  incapable  of  robbing  his  children," 
she  continued,  giving  way  to  tears  of  distress.  "You 
misunderstand  him.  Monsieur  Pierquin." 

"But,  my  dear  cousin,  if  your  father  gets  back  to 
chemistry  —  " 

"  We  are  ruined ;  is  that  what  you  mean?  " 

"Yes,  utterly  ruined.  Believe  me.  Marguerite,"  he 
said,  taking  her  hand  which  he  placed  upon  his  heart, 
"I  should  fail  of  my  duty  if  I  did  not  persist  in  this 
matter.     Your  interests  alone  —  " 

"Monsieur,"  said  Marguerite,  coldly  withdrawing 
her  hand,  "  the  true  interests  of  my  family  require  me 
not  to  marry.     M}^  mother  thought  so." 

' '  Cousin,"  he  cried,  with  the  earnestness  of  a  man 


The  Alkahest.  181 

who  sees  a  fortune  escaping  him,  "you  commit  sui- 
cide; you  fling  your  mother's  property  into  a  gulf. 
Well,  I  will  prove  the  devotion  I  feel  for  you:  you 
know  not  how  I  love  you.  I  have  admired  you  from 
the  day  of  that  last  ball,  three  years  ago ;  vou  wore 
enchanting.  Trust  the  voice  of  love  when  it  speaks  to 
you  of  your  own  interests.  Marguerite."  He  paused. 
"  Yes,  we  must  call  a  family  council  and  emancipate 
3'ou  —  without  consulting  you,"  he  added. 

"  But  what  is  it  to  be  emancipated?" 

"  It  is  to  enjoy  your  own  rights." 

*'  If  I  can  be  emancipated  without  being  married, 
why  do  you  want  me  to  marr}?  and  whom  should  I 
marr}-  ? " 

Pierquin  tried  to  look  tenderly  at  his  cousin,  but  the 
expression  contrasted  so  strongly  with  his  hard  eyes, 
usually  fixed  on  mone}',  that  Marguerite  discovered  the 
self-interest  in  his  improvised  tenderness. 

"  You  would  marr}-  the  person  who  —  pleases  you  — 
the  most,"  he  said.  "  A  husband  is  indispensable, 
were  it  only  as  a  matter  of  business.  You  are  now 
entering  upon  a  struggle  with  j'our  father ;  can  you 
resist  him  all  alone?" 

"Yes,  monsieur;  I  shall  know  how  to  protect  ray 
brothers  and  sister  when  the  time  comes." 

"  Pshaw  !  the  obstinate  creature,"  thought  Pierquin. 
"  No,  you  will  not  resist  him,"  he  said  aloud. 


182  The  Alkahest. 

"  Let  us  end  the  subject,"  she  said. 

"Adieu,  cousin,  I  shall  endeavor  to  serve  you  in 
spite  of  3'ourself ;  I  will  prove  my  love  by  protecting 
you  against  your  will  from  a  disaster  which  all  the  town 
foresees." 

"  I  thank  yoxx  for  the  interest  you  take  in  me,"  she 
answered  ;  "  but  I  entreat  3- on  to  propose  nothing  and 
to  undertake  nothing  which  may  give  pain  to  my 
father." 

Marguerite  stood  thoughtfully  watching  Pierquin  as 
he  departed ;  she  compared  his  metallic  voice,  his 
manners,  flexible  as  a  steel  spring,  his  glance,  ser- 
vile rather  than  tender,  with  the  mute  melodious 
poetr}'  in  which  Emmanuel's  sentiments  were  wrapped. 
No  matter  what  may  be  said,  or  what  may  be  done, 
there  exists  a  wonderful  magnetism  whose  effects 
never  deceive.  The  tones  of  the  voice,  the  glance, 
the  passionate  gestures  of  a  lover  may  be  imitated  ; 
a  young  girl  can  be  deluded  b}'  a  clever  comedian ; 
but  to  succeed,  the  man  must  be  alone  in  the  field. 
If  the  3'oung  girl  has  another  soul  beside  her  whose 
pulses  vibrate  in  unison  with  hers,  she  is  able  to  dis- 
tinguish the  expressions  of  a  true  love.  Emmanuel, 
like  Marguerite,  felt  the  influence  of  the  clouds  which, 
from  the  time  of  their  first  meeting  had  gathered  omi- 
nously about  their  heads,  hiding  from  their  eyes  the 
blue  skies  of  love.      His  feeling  for  the  Elect  of  his 


The  Alkahest,  IgS 

heart  was  an  idolatry  which  the  total  absence  of  hop« 
rendered  gentle  and  mysterious  in  its  manifestalions. 
Socially  too  far  removed  from  Mademoiselle  C'lal-s  by 
his  want  of  fortune,  with  nothing  but  a  noble  name  to 
offer  her,  he  saw  no  chance  of  ever  being  her  husband. 
Yet  he  had  always  hoped  for  certain  encouragements 
which  Marguerite  refused  to  give  before  the  faili.ig  eyes 
of  her  dying  mother.      Both  e(iually  pure,   they  had 
never  said  to  one  another  a  word  of  love.     Their  joys 
were  solitary  joys  tasted  by  each  alone.     They  trembled 
apart,  though  together  they  quivered  beneath  the  rays 
of  the  same  hope.     They  seemed  to  fear  themselves, 
conscious  that  each  only  too  surely  belonged  to  the 
other.     Emmanuel  trembled  lest  he  should  touch  the 
hand  of  the  sovereign  to  whom  he  had  made  a  shrine 
in  his  heart ;  a  chance  contact  would  have  roused  hopes 
that  were  too  ardent,  he  could  not  then  have  mastered 
the  force  of  his  passion.     And  yet,  while  neither  be- 
stowed the  vast,  though  trivial,  the  innocent  and  yet 
all-meaning  signs  of  love  that  even  timid  lovers  allow 
themselves,  they  were  so  firmly  fixed  in  each  other's 
hearts  that  both  were  ready  to  make  the  greatest  sacri- 
fices, which  were,  indeed,  the  only  pleasures  their  love 
could  expect  to  taste. 

Since  Madame  Claes's  death  this  hidden  love  was 
shrouded  in  mourning.  The  tints  of  the  sphere  in  which 
it  hved,  dark  and  dim  from  the  first,  were  now  black ; 


184  The  Alkahest. 

the  few  lights  were  veiled  by  tears.  Marguerite's  reserve 
changed  to  coldness  ;  she  remembered  the  promise  ex- 
acted by  her  mother.  With  more  freedom  of  action,  she 
nevertheless  became  more  distant.  Emmanuel  shared 
his  beloved's  grief,  comprehending  that  the  slightest 
word  or  wish  of  love  at  such  a  time  transgressed  the  laws 
of  the  heart.  Their  love  was  therefore  more  concealed 
than  it  had  ever  been.  These  tender  souls  sounded  the 
same  note :  held  apart  by  grief,  as  formerly  by  the 
timidities  of  j'outh  and  by  respect  for  the  sufferings  of 
the  mother,  they  clung  to  the  magnificent  language 
of  the  eyes,  the  mute  eloquence  of  devoted  actions, 
the  constant  unison  of  thoughts,  — divine  harmonies  of 
youth,  the  first  steps  of  a  love  still  in  its  infancy. 
Emmanuel  came  every  morning  to  inquire  for  Claes 
and  Marguerite,  but  he  never  entered  the  dining-room, 
where  the  family  now  sat,  unless  to  bring  a  letter  from 
Gabriel  or  when  Balthazar  invited  him  to  come  in. 
His  first  glance  at  the  3'oung  girl  contained  a  thousand 
sj'mpathetic  thoughts  ;  it  told  her  that  he  sufiered  under 
these  conventional  restraints,  that  he  never  left  her,  he 
was  always  with  her,  he  shared  her  grief.  He  shed  the 
tears  of  his  own  pain  into  the  soul  of  his  dear  one  by  a 
look  that  was  marred  by  no  selfish  reservation.  His 
good  heart  lived  so  completely  in  the  present,  he  clung 
so  firmly  to  a  happiness  which  he  believed  to  be  fugi- 
tive, that  Marguerite  sometimes  reproached  herself  for 


The  Alkahest.  185 

not  generously  holding  out  her  hand  and  saying,  "  Let 
us  at  least  be  friends." 

Pierquin  continued  his  suit  with  an  obstinacy  which 
is  the  unreflecting  patience  of  fools.  He  judgcil  Mar- 
guerite by  the  ordinary  rules  of  the  multitude  when 
judging  of  women.  He  believed  that  the  words  mar- 
riage, freedom,  fortune,  which  he  had  put  into  her  mind, 
would  germinate  and  flower  into  wishes  by  which  ho 
could  profit ;  he  imagined  that  her  coldness  ynxs  mere 
dissimulation.  But  surround  her  as  he  would  witli  gal- 
lant attentions,  he  could  not  hide  the  despotic  ways  of 
a  man  accustomed  to  manage  the  private  affairs  of 
man}'  families  with  a  high  hand.  He  discoursetl  to  her 
in  those  platitudes  of  consolation  common  to  his  profi-s- 
sion,  which  crawl  like  snails  over  the  suffer ing  mind, 
lea%dng  behind  them  a  trail  of  barren  words  which  pro- 
fane its  sanctity.  His  tenderness  was  mere  wheedling. 
He  dropped  his  feigned  melancholy  at  the  door  when 
he  put  on  his  overshoes,  or  took  his  umbrella.  Ik- 
used  the  tone  his  long  intimacy  authorized  as  an  in- 
strument to  work  himself  still  further  into  the  bosom 
of  the  family,  and  bring  Marguerite  to  a  marriage  which 
the  whole  town  was  beginning  to  foresee.  Tlie  true, 
devoted,  respectful,  love  formed  a  striking  contrast 
to  its  selfish,  calculating  semblance.  Each  man's  con- 
duct was  homogeneous:  one  feigned  a  passion  and 
seized  every  advantage  to  obtain  the  prize ;  the  other 


186  The  Alkahest. 

hid  his  love  and  trembled  lest  he  should  betray  his 
devotion. 

Some  time  after  the  death  of  her  mother,  and,  as  it 
happened,  on  the  same  day,  Marguerite  was  enabled  to 
compare  the  only  two  men  of  whom  she  had  any  oppor- 
tunity of  judging ;  for  the  social  solitude  to  which  she 
was  condemned  kept  her  from  seeing  life  and  gave  no 
access  to  those  who  might  think  of  her  in  marriage. 
One  day  after  breakfast,  on  a  fine  morning  in  April, 
Emmanuel  called  at  the  house  just  as  Monsieur  Claes 
was  going  out.  The  aspect  of  his  own  house  was  so 
unendurable  to  Balthazar  that  he  spent  part  of  every 
day  in  walking  about  the  ramparts.  Emmanuel  made 
a  motion  as  if  to  foUow  him,  then  he  hesitated,  seemed 
to  gather  up  his  courage,  looked  at  Marguerite  and  re- 
mained. The  young  girl  felt  sure  that  he  wished  to 
speak  with  her,  and  asked  him  to  go  into  the  garden ; 
then  she  sent  Felicie  to  Martha,  who  was  sewing  in 
the  antechamber  on  the  upper  floor,  and  seated  herself 
on  a  garden-seat  in  full  view  of  her  sister  and  the  old 
duenna. 

"  Monsieur  Claes  is  as  much  absorbed  by  grief  as  he 
once  was  by  science,"  began  the  3'oung  man,  watching 
Balthazar  as  he  slowl}'  crossed  the  court-j^ard.  "  Every 
one  in  Douai  pities  him  ;  he  moves  like  a  man  who  has 
lost  all  consciousness  of  life ;  he  stops  without  a  pur- 
pose, he  gazes  without  seeing  anything." 


The  Alkahest.  18' 


ar- 


"  Every  sorrow  has  its  own  expression,"  said  M 
guerite,  cliecking  her  tears.  •'  What  is  it  yon  wish  to 
say  to  me  ?  "  she  added  after  a  pause,  coldly  and  with 
dignity. 

"Mademoiselle,"  answered  Emmanuel  in  a  voice  of 
feeling,  "I  scarcely  know  if  I  have  the  right  to  speak 
to  you  as  I  am  about  to  do  ?  Think  only  of  my  desire 
to  be  of  service  to  you,  and  give  me  the  right  of  a 
teacher  to  be  interested  in  the  future  of  a  juipil.  Your 
brother  Gabriel  is  over  fifteen  ;  he  is  in  the  seconil  class  ; 
it  is  now  necessary  to  direct  his  studies  in  the  line  of 
whatever  future  career  he  may  take  up.  It  is  for  your 
father  to  decide  what  that  career  shall  be :  if  he  gives 
the  matter  no  thought,  the  injury  to  Gabriel  will  be  se- 
rious. But  then,  again,  would  it  not  mortify  your 
father  if  j'ou  showed  him  that  he  is  neglecting  his  son's 
interests  ?  Under  these  ckcumstances,  could  you  not 
yourself  consult  Gabriel  as  to  his  tastes,  and  help  him 
to  choose  a  career,  so  that  later,  if  his  father  shouUl 
think  of  making  him  a  public  officer,  an  administra- 
tor, a  soldier,  he  might  be  prepared  with  some  spe- 
cial training  ?  I  do  not  suppose  that  either  you  or 
Monsieur  Claes  would  wish  to  bring  Gabriel  ujt  in 
idleness." 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Marguerite ;  "when  my  mother 
taught  us  to  make  lace,  and  took  such  pains  witli 
our  drawing  and  music  and  embroidery,  she  often  said 


188  The  Alkahest. 

we  must  be  prepared  for  whatever  might  happen  to  us. 
Gabriel  ought  to  have  a  thorough  education  and  a  per- 
sonal value.  But  tell  me,  what  career  is  the  best  for  a 
man  to  choose  ?  " 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  Emmanuel,  trembling  with 
pleasure,  "  Gabriel  is  at  the  head  of  his  class  in  mathe- 
matics ;  if  he  would  like  to  enter  the  Ecole  Pol^-tech- 
nique,  he  could  there  acquire  the  practical  knowledge 
which  will  fit  him  for  any  career.  When  he  leaves  the 
Ecole  he  can  choose  the  path  in  life  for  which  he  feels 
the  strongest  bias.  Thus,  without  compromising  his 
future,  you  will  have  saved  a  great  deal  of  time.  Men 
who  leave  the  Ecole  with  honors  are  sought  after  on  all 
sides  ;  the  school  turns  out  statesmen,  diplomats,  men 
of  science,  engineers,  generals,  sailors,  magistrates, 
manufacturers,  and  bankers.  There  is  nothing  ex- 
traordinary in  the  son  of  a  rich  or  noble  family  pre- 
paring himself  to  enter  it.  If  Gabriel  decides  on  this 
course  I  shall  ask  you  to  —  will  you  grant  my  request  ? 
Say  yes ! " 

"^Vhatisit?" 

"  Let  me  be  his  tutor,"  he  answered,  trembling. 

Marguerite  looked  at  Monsieur  de  Solis ;  then  she 
took  his  hand,  and  said,  "Yes"  —  and  paused,  add- 
ing presently  in  a  broken  voice :  — 

"  How  much  I  value  the  delicac}'  which  makes 
you  offer  me  a  thing  I  can  accept  from  you.     In  all 


Tlie  Alkahest.  189 

that  you  have  said  I  see  how  much  vou  have  thouirht 
for  us.     I  thank  you." 

Though  the  words  were  simply  said,  Emmanuel 
tiu'ned  away  his  head  not  to  show  the  tears  that  the 
delight  of  being  useful  to  her  brought  to  his  eyes. 

"  I  will  bring  both  boys  to  see  you,"  he  said,  when 
he  was  a  little  calmer ;  '*  to-morrow  is  a  holidav." 

He  rose  and  bowed  to  Marguerite,  who  followed  him 
into  the  house  ;  when  he  had  crossed  the  court -yard  he 
turned  and  saw  her  still  at  the  door  of  the  dining-room, 
from  which  she  made  him  a  friendly  sign. 

After  dinner  Pierquin  came  to  see  Slonsieur  Claes, 
and  sat  down  between  father  and  daughter  on  the  viry 
bench  in  the  garden  where  Emmanuel  had  sat  thut 
morning. 

"  M}' dear  cousin,"  he  said  to  Balthazar,  "I  have 
come  to-night  to  talk  to  you  on  business.  It  is  now 
fort3'-two  days  since  the  decease  of  your  wife." 

"  I  keep  no  account  of  time,"  said  Balthazar,  wiping 
away  the  tears  that  came  at  the  word  "  decease." 

"Oh,  monsieur!"  cried  Marguerite,  looking  .at  the 
lawyer,  "  how  can  3'ou?" 

"  But,  my  dear  Marguerite,  we  notaries  are  oltlitred 
to  consider  the  limits  of  time  appointed  by  law.  TliiH 
is  a  matter  which  concerns  you  and  your  co-hiirs. 
Monsieur  Claes  has  none  but  minor  children,  and  ho 
must  make  an  inventory  of  his  property  within  forty- 


190  TJie  Alkahest. 

five  days  of  his  wife's  decease,  so  as  to  render  in  his 
accounts  at  the  end  of  that  time.  It  is  necessary  to 
know  the  value  of  his  property  before  deciding  whether 
to  accept  it  as  sufficient  security,  or  whether  we  must 
fall  back  on  the  legal  rights  of  minors." 

Marguerite  rose. 

"  Do  not  go  away,  my  dear  cousin,"  continued  Pier- 
quin  ;  "  my  words  concern  you  —  you  and  your  father 
both.  You  know  how  truly  I  share  your  grief,  but  to- 
da}'  you  must  give  your  attention  to  legal  details.  If 
3'ou  do  not,  every  one  of  you  will  get  into  serious  dif- 
ficulties. I  am  only  doing  my  duty  as  the  family' 
lawyer." 

"  He  is  right,"  said  Claes. 

"The  time  expires  in  two  days,"  resumed  Pierquin  ; 
"  and  I  must  begin  the  inventory  to-morrow,  if  only  to 
postpone  the  payment  of  the  legacy-tax  which  the  pub- 
lic treasurer  will  come  here  and  demand.  Treasurers 
have  no  hearts ;  the}'  don't  trouble  themselves  about 
feelings  ;  they  fasten  their  claws  upon  us  at  all  seasons. 
Therefore  for  the  next  two  days  my  clerk  and  I  will  be 
here  from  ten  till  four  with  Monsieur  Raparlier,  the 
public  appraiser.  After  we  get  through  the  town  prop- 
erty we  shall  go  into  the  country.  As  for  the  forest  of 
Waignies,  we  shall  be  obliged  to  hold  a  consultation 
about  that.  Now  let  us  turn  to  another  matter.  We 
must  call  a  family  council  and  appoint  a  guardian  to 


The  Alkahest.  191 

protect  the  interests  of  the  miuor  children.  Monsieur 
Conyncks  of  Bruges  is  your  nearest  relative  ;  but  he 
has  now  become  a  Belgian.  You  ought,"  continuetl 
Pierquin,  addressing  Balthazar,  ''  to  write  to  him  on 
this  matter ;  you  can  then  find  out  if  he  has  any  iutt-n- 
tion  of  settling  in  France,  where  he  has  a  fine  proportv. 
Perhaps  you  could  persuade  him  and  his  daughU?r  to 
move  into  French  Flanders.  If  he  refuses,  then  I  must 
see  about  making  up  the  council  with  the  other  near 
relatives." 

"What  is  the  use  of  an  inventory?"  asked  Mar- 
guerite. 

' '  To  put  on  record  the  value  and  the  claims  of  the 
Y)ropert3',  its  debts  and  its  assets.  When  that  is  all 
clearly  scheduled,  the  familj-  council,  acting  on  behalf 
of  the  minors,  makes  such  dispositions  as  it  sees 
fit." 

"  Pierquin,"  said  Claes,  rising  from  the  bench,  "do 
all  that  is  necessary  to  protect  the  rights  of  my  chil- 
dren ;  but  spare  us  the  distress  of  selling  the  things 
that  belonged  to  my  dear — "  he  was  unable  to  con- 
tinue ;  but  he  spoke  with  so  noble  an  air  and  in  a  tone 
of  such  deep  feeling  that  Marguerite  took  her  father's 
hand  and  kissed  it. 

"  To-morrow,  then,"  said  Pierquin. 

"  Come  to  breakfast,"  said  Claes  ;  then  he  seemed  to 
gather  his  scattered  senses  together  and   exclaimed: 


192  The  Alkahest. 

"But  in  my  marriage  contract,  which  was  drawn 
under  the  laws  of  Hainault,  I  released  my  wife  from 
the  obligation  of  making  an  inventory,  in  order  that 
she  might  not  be  annoyed  by  it :  it  is  very  probable 
that  I  was  equally  released  —  " 

"Oh,  what  happiness!"  cried  Marguerite.  "It 
would  have  been  so  distressing  to  us." 

"Well,  I  will  look  into  your  marriage  contract  to- 
morrow," said  the  notary,  rather  confused. 

"  Then  you  did  not  know  of  this?"  said  Marguerite. 

This  remark  closed  the  interview ;  the  lawyer  was 
far  too  much  confused  to  continue  it  after  the  young 
girl's  comment. 

"The  devil  is  in  it!"  he  said  to  himself  as  he 
crossed  the  court-yard.  "  That  man's  wandering  mem- 
ory comes  back  to  him  in  the  nick  of  time,  — just  when 
he  needed  it  to  hinder  us  from  taking  precautions 
against  him !  I  have  cracked  my  brains  to  save  the 
property  of  those  children.  I  meant  to  proceed  regu- 
larly and  come  to  an  understanding  with  old  Cony  neks, 
and  here's  the  end  of  it!  I  shall  lose  ground  with 
Marguerite,  for  she  will  certainly  ask  her  father  why  I 
wanted  an  inventory  of  the  property,  which  she  now 
sees  was  not  necessary ;  and  Claes  will  tell  her  that 
notaries  have  a  passion  for  writing  documents,  that  we 
are  lawyers  above  all,  above  cousins  or  friends  or 
relatives,  and  all  such  stufl  as  that." 


The  Alkahest.  1 93 

He  slammed  the  street  door  violently,  railing  at 
clients  who  ruin  themselves  by  sensitiveness. 

Balthazar  was  right.  No  inventory  eould  be  made. 
Nothing,  therefore,  was  done  to  setUe  the  relation  of 
the  father  to  the  children  in  the  matt*.^r  of  property. 

13 


194  The  Alkahest. 


XI. 

Several  months  went  by  and  brought  no  change  to 
the  House  of  Claes.  Gabriel,  under  the  wise  manage- 
ment of  his  tutor,  Monsieur  de  Solis,  worked  studious!}-, 
acquired  foreign  languages,  and  prepared  to  pass  the 
necessary  examinations  to  enter  the  Ecole  Polj'tech- 
nique.  Marguerite  and  Felicie  lived  in  absolute  retire- 
ment, going  in  summer  to  their  father's  country  place 
as  a  measure  of  econom}'.  Monsieur  Claes  attended  to 
his  business  affairs,  paid  his  debts  b}"  borrowing  a  con- 
siderable sum  of  money  on  his  property,  and  went  to 
see  the  forest  at  Waignies. 

About  the  middle  of  the  yeax  1817,  his  grief,  slowly 
abating,  left  him  a  prey  to  solitude  and  defenceless 
under  the  monotony  of  the  life  he  was  leading,  which 
heavily  oppressed  him.  At  first  he  struggled  bravely 
against  the  allurements  of  Science  as  they  gradually  be- 
set him  ;  he  forbade  himself  even  to  think  of  Chemistry. 
Then  he  did  think  of  it.  Still,  he  would  not  actively 
take  it  up,  and  onl}^  gave  his  mind  to  his  researches 
theoretically.  Such  constant  stud}',  however,  swelled 
his  passion  which  soon  became  exacting.    He   asked 


The  Alkahest.  I95 

himself  whether  he  was  really  bound  not  to  continue  his 
researches,  and  remcmhered  that  his  wife  had  nfusoil 
his  oath.  Though  he  had  pledged  his  wonl  to  hinist-If 
that  he  would  never  pursue  the  solution  of  the  great 
Problem,  might  he  not  change  that  det<«rmination  at  a 
moment  when  he  foresaw  success  ?  He  was  now  fiav- 
nine  years  old.  At  that  age  a  predominant  idea  con- 
tracts  a  certain  peevish  fixedness  which  is  the  first 
stage  of  monomania. 

Circumstances  conspired  against  his  totterini;  loy- 
alty. The  peace  which  Europe  now  enjoyed  encour- 
aged the  circulation  of  discoveries  and  scientific  ideas 
acquired  during  the  war  by  the  learned  of  various  coun- 
tries, who  for  nearly  twenty  years  had  been  unable  to 
hold  communication.  Science  was  making  great  strides. 
Claes  found  that  the  progress  of  chemistry  had  been 
directed,  unknown  to  chemists  themselves,  towards  the 
object  of  his  researches.  Learned  men  devoted  to  the 
higher  sciences  thought,  as  he  did,  that  light,  heat, 
electricit}',  galvanism,  magnetism  were  all  different  ef- 
fects of  the  same  cause,  and  that  the  difference  existing 
between  substances  hitherto  considered  simple  must  be 
produced  by  var3'ing  proportions  of  an  luiknown  princi- 
ple. The  fear  that  some  other  chemist  might  effect  the 
reduction  of  metals  and  discover  the  constituent  i)rin- 
ciple  of  electricit}',  —  two  achievements  whith  would 
lead   to    the    solution   of   the    chemical   Absolute,  — 


196  The  Alkahest. 

increased  what  the  people  of  Douai  called  a  mania,  and 
drove  his  desires  to  a  paroxysm  conceivable  to  those 
"vrho  devote  themselves  to  the  sciences,  or  who  have 
ever  known  the  tyranny  of  ideas. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Balthazar  was  again  carried 
awa}"  by  a  passion  all  the  more  violent  because  it 
had  lain  dormant  so  long.  Marguerite,  who  watched 
every  evidence  of  her  father's  state  of  mind,  opened 
the  long-closed  parlor.  By  living  in  it  she  recalled 
the  painful  memories  which  her  mother's  death  had 
caused,  and  succeeded  for  a  time  in  re-awaking  her 
father's  grief,  and  retarding  his  plunge  into  the  gulf  to 
the  depths  of  which  he  was,  nevertheless,  doomed  to 
fall.  She  determined  to  go  into  society  and  force  Bal- 
thazar to  share  in  its  distractions.  Several  good  mar- 
riages were  proposed  to  her,  which  occupied  Claes's 
mind,  but  to  all  of  them  she  replied  that  she  should  not 
marry  until  after  she  was  twenty-five.  But  in  spite  of 
his  daughter's  efforts,  in  spite  of  his  remorseful  strug- 
gles, Balthazar,  at  the  beginning  of  the  winter,  returned 
secretly  to  his  researches.  It  was  difficult,  however, 
to  hide  his  operations  from  the  inquisitive  women  in 
the  kitchen  ;  and  one  morning  Martha,  while  dressing 
Marguerite,  said  to  her :  — 

"  Mademoiselle,  we  are  as  good  as  lost.  That  mon- 
ster of  a  Mulquinier  —  who  is  a  devil  disguised,  for  I 
never  saw  him  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  —  has  gone 


The  Alkahest.  I97 

back  to  the  garret.  There's  monsieur  on  the  high-road 
to  hell.  Pray  God  he  mayn't  kill  you  aa  he  kilKxl 
my  poor  mistress." 

"  It  is  not  possible  !  "  exclaimed  Marg:ucrite. 

"  Come  and  see  the  signs  of  their  trallic." 

Mademoiselle  Claes  ran  to  the  window  and  saw  the 
light  smoke  rising  from  the  flue  of  the  laboratory, 

'*  I  shall  be  twentj'-one  in  a  few  months,"  she  thought, 
*'  and  I  shall  know  how  to  oppose  the  destruction  of  our 
property." 

In  giving  way  to  his  passion  Balthazar  necessarily 
felt  less  respect  for  the  interests  of  his  children  than  lie 
formerly  had  felt  for  the  happiness  of  his  wife.  Tlie 
barriers  were  less  high,  his  conscience  was  more  elastic, 
his  passion  had  increased  in  strength.  Uo  now  set 
forth  in  his  career  of  glory,  toil,  hope,  and  poverty,  with 
the  fervor  of  a  man  profoundly  trustful  of  his  convic- 
tions. Certain  of  the  result,  he  worked  night  and  day 
with  a  fury  that  alarmed  his  daughters,  who  did  not 
know  how  little  a  man  is  injured  by  work  that  give* 
him  pleasure. 

Her  father  had  no  sooner  recommenced  his  experi- 
ments than  Marguerite  retrenched  the  supcrfluitii-s  of 
the  table,  showing  a  parsimony  worth}'  of  a  miser,  in 
which  Josette  and  Martha  admirably  seconded  lu-r. 
Claes  never  noticed  the  change  which  reduced  the 
household  living  to  the  merest  necessaries.     First  ho 


198  The  Alkahest. 

ceased  to  breakfast  with  the  famil}- ;  then  he  only  left 
his  laboratory  when  dinner  was  ready  ;  and  at  last,  be- 
fore he  went  to  bed,  he  would  sit  some  hours  in  the 
parlor  between  his  daughters  without  saj^ing  a  word  to 
either  of  them  ;  when  he  rose  to  go  upstairs  they  wished 
him  good-night,  and  he  allowed  them  mechanically  to 
kiss  him  on  both  cheeks.  Such  conduct  would  have  led 
to  great  domestic  misfortunes  had  Marguerite  not  been 
prepared  to  exercise  the  authorit}'  of  a  mother,  and  if, 
moreover,  she  were  not  protected  by  a  secret  love  from 
the  dangers  of  so  much  liberty. 

Pierquin  had  ceased  to  come  to  the  house,  judging 
that  the  family  ruin  would  soon  be  complete.  Bal- 
thazar's rural  estates,  which  jdelded  sixteen  thousand 
francs  a  3'ear,  and  were  worth  about  six  hundred  thou- 
sand, were  now  encumbered  b}'  mortgages  to  the 
amount  of  three  hundred  thousand  francs  ;  for,  in  order 
to  recommence  his  researches,  Claes  had  borrowed  a 
considerable  sum  of  money.  The  rents  were  exactly 
enough  to  pay  the  interest  of  the  mortgages ;  but,  with 
the  improvidence  of  a  man  who  is  the  slave  of  an  idea, 
he  made  over  the  income  from  his  farm  lands  to  Mar- 
guerite for  the  expenses  of  the  household,  and  the  no- 
tary calculated  that  three  years  would  suffice  to  bring 
matters  to  a  crisis,  when  the  law  would  step  in  and  eat 
up  all  that  Balthazar  had  not  squandered.  Marguerite's 
coldness  brought  Pierquin  to  a  state  of  almost  hostile 


The  Alkahest.  199 

indifference.  To  give  himself  an  appearance  in  tlio 
eyes  of  the  world  of  having  renounced  her  band,  ho 
frequently  remarked  of  the  Claes  family  in  a  tone  of 
compassion  :  — 

"  Those  poor  people  are  ruined  ;  I  have  done  my  best 
to  save  them.  Well,  it  can't  be  helped  ;  Madi'moiselle 
Claes  refused  to  employ  the  legal  means  wliich  might 
have  rescued  them  from  poverty." 

Emmanuel  de  SoUs,  who  was  now  principal  of  the 
college-school  in  Douai,  thanks  to  the  influence  of  his 
uncle  and  to  his  own  merits  which  made  him  worthy  of 
the  post,  came  every  evening  to  see  the  two  young  girls, 
who  called  the  old  duenna  into  the  parlor  as  soon  as 
their  father  had  gone  to  bed.  Emmanuel's  gentle  rap 
at  the  street-door  was  never  missing.  For  the  last  three 
months,  encouraged  bj'  the  gracious,  though  mute  grati- 
tude with  which  Marguerite  now  accepted  his  attentions, 
he  became  at  his  ease,  and  was  seen  for  what  he  was. 
The  brightness  of  his  pure  spirit  shone  like  a  flawless 
diamond  ;  Marguerite  learned  to  understand  its  strength 
and  its  constancy  when  she  saw  how  inexhaustible  was 
the  source  from  which  it  came.  She  loved  to  watch  the 
unfolding,  one  by  one,  of  the  blossoms  of  his  heart, 
whose  perfume  she  had  already  breathed.  Each  day 
Emmanuel  realized  some  one  of  Marguerite's  hoyteSy 
and  illumined  the  enchanted  regions  of  love  with  new 
lights  that  chased  away  the  clouds  and  brought  to  view 


200  The  Alkahest. 

the  serene  heavens,  giving  color  to  the  fruitful  riches 
hidden  away  in  the  shadow  of  their  lives.  More  at  his 
ease,  the  j'oung  man  could  display  the  seductive  quali- 
ties of  his  heart  until  now  discreetly  hidden,  the  expan- 
sive ga3'et3'  of  his  age,  the  simplicity  which  comes  of  a 
life  of  study,  the  treasures  of  a  delicate  mind  that  life 
has  not  adulterated,  the  innocent  jo^'ousness  which  goes 
so  well  with  loving  j'outh.  His  soul  and  Marguerite's 
understood  each  other  better ;  they  went  together  to 
the  depths  of  their  hearts  and  found  in  each  the  same 
thoughts,  — pearls  of  equal  lustre,  sweet  fresh  harmonies 
like  those  the  legends  tell  of  beneath  the  waves,  which 
fascinate  the  divers.  They  made  themselves  known  to 
one  another  b}'  an  interchange  of  thought,  a  reciprocal 
introspection  which  bore  the  signs,  in  both,  of  exquisite 
sensibilit3\  It  was  done  without  false  shame,  but  not 
without  mutual  coquetr}'.  The  two  hours  which  Em- 
manuel spent  with  the  sisters  and  old  Martha  enabled 
Marguerite  to  accept  the  life  of  anguish  and  renuncia- 
tion on  which  she  had  entered.  This  artless,  progressive 
love  was  her  support.  In  all  his  testimonies  of  affection 
Emmanuel  showed  the  natural  grace  that  is  so  winning, 
the  sweet  yet  subtile  mind  which  breaks  the  uniformity 
of  sentiment  as  the  facets  of  a  diamond  relieve,  by  their 
many-sided  fires,  the  monotony  of  the  stone,  —  adorable 
wisdom,  the  secret  of  loving  hearts,  which  makes  a 
woman  pliant  to  the  artistic  hand  that  gives  new  life  to 


The  Alkahest.  201 

old,  old  forms,  and  refreshes  with  novel  modulations 
the  phrases  of  love.  Love  is  not  only  a  sentiment, 
it  is  an  art.  Some  simple  word,  a  trifling  vigilanco, 
a  nothing,  reveals  to  a  woman  the  great,  the  divine 
artist  who  shall  touch  her  heart  and  yet  not  blight  it. 
The  more  Emmanuel  was  free  to  utter  himself,  the  more 
charming  were  the  expressions  of  his  love. 

"  I  have  tried  to  get  here  before  Pierquin,"  ho  said 
to  Marguerite  one  evening.  "  He  is  bringing  some  bad 
news ;  I  would  rather  you  heard  it  from  mi'.  Your 
father  has  sold  all  the  timber  in  vour  forest  at  Wai«'- 
nies  to  speculators,  who  have  resold  it  to  dealers.  The 
trees  are  already  felled,  and  the  logs  are  carried  away. 
Monsieur  Claes  received  three  hundred  thousand  francs 
in  cash  as  a  first  instalment  of  the  price,  which  he  has 
used  towards  paying  his  bills  in  Paris ;  but  to  clear  off 
his  debts  entirely  he  has  been  forced  to  assign  a  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  of  the  three  hundred  thousand 
still  due  to  him  on  the  purchase-money." 

Pierquin  entered  at  this  moment. 

"Ah!  m\'  dear  cousin,"  he  said,  "you  are  ruined. 
I  told  you  how  it  would  be  ;  but  you  would  not  listen 
to  me.  Your  father  has  an  insatiable  appetite',  llf 
has  swallowed  j'our  woods  at  a  mouthful.  Your  family 
guardian.  Monsieur  Conyncks,  is  just  now  absent  in 
Amsterdam,  and  Claes  has  seized  the  opportunity  to 
strike  the  blow.     It  is  all  wrong.     I  have  written  to 


202  Tlie  Alkahest. 

Monsieur  Conj'ncks,  but  he  will  get  here  too  late ; 
everything  will  be  squandered.  You  will  be  obliged  to 
sue  your  father.  The  suit  can't  be  long,  but  it  will  be 
dishonorable.  Monsieur  Conyncks  has  no  alternative 
but  to  institute  proceedings  ;  the  law  requires  it.  This 
is  the  result  of  your  obstinacy.  Do  you  now  see  my 
prudence,  and  how  devoted  I  was  to  3'our  interests  ?  " 

"  I  bring  you  some  good  news,  mademoiselle,"  said 
young  de  Solis  in  his  gentle  voice.  "  Gabriel  has  been 
admitted  to  the  Ecole  Folytechnique.  The  difficulties 
that  seemed  in  the  way  have  all  been  removed." 

Marguerite  thanked  him  with  a  smile  as  she  said  :  — 

"  My  savings  will  now  come  in  play!  Martha,  we 
must  begin  to-morrow  on  Gabriel's  outfit.  My  poor 
Felicie,  we  shall  have  to  work  hard,"  she  added,  kissing 
her  sister's  forehead. 

"  To-morrow  you  shall  have  him  at  home,  to  remain 
ten  days,"  said  Emmanuel;  "  he  must  be  in  Paris  by 
the  fifteenth  of  November." 

"  My  cousin  Gabriel  has  done  a  sensible  thing,"  said 
the  lawyer,  eyeing  the  professor  from  head  to  foot ; 
"  for  he  will  have  to  make  his  own  way.  But,  my  dear 
cousin,  the  question  now  is  how  to  save  the  honor  of  the 
family  :  will  you  listen  to  what  I  say  this  time  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  "not  if  it  relates  to  marriage." 

"  Then  what  will  you  do?  " 

*' I?  — nothing." 


The  Alkaheit.  203 

*'  But  you  are  of  age." 

*'  I  shall  be  in  a  few  days.  Have  you  any  course  to 
suggest  to  me,"  she  added,  "  which  will  reconcile  our 
interests  with  the  duty  we  owe  to  our  father  and  to  the 
honor  of  the  family  ?  " 

"  My  dear  cousin,  nothing  can  be  done  till  your  uncle 
arrives.     When  he  does,  I  will  call  again." 

"  Adieu,  monsieur,"  said  Marguerite. 

"  The  poorer  she  is  the  more  airs  she  gives  herself," 
thought  the  notary.  "  Adieu,  mademoiselle,"  he  said 
aloud.  "  Monsieur,  my  respects  to  you  ;  "  and  he  went 
away,  paying  no  attention  to  Felicie  or  Martha. 

"I  have  been  studying  the  Code  for  the  last  two 
da3's,  and  I  have  consulted  an  experienced  old  lawyer, 
a  friend  of  my  uncle,"  said  Emmanuel,  in  a  hesitating 
voice.  "  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  go  to  Amsterdam 
to-morrow  and  see  Monsieur  Conyncks.  Listen,  dear 
Marguerite  —  " 

He  uttered  her  name  for  the  first  time  ;  she  thanked 
him  with  a  smile  and  a  tearful  glance,  and  made  a 
gentle  incUnation  of  her  head.  He  paused,  looking 
at  Felicie  and  Martha. 

"  Speak  before  my  sister,"  said  Marguerite.  "  Sho 
is  so  docile  and  courageous  that  she  does  not  need  this 
discussion  to  make  her  resigned  to  our  life  of  toil  and 
privation  ;  but  it  is  best  that  she  should  see  for  hcrseli 
how  necessary  courage  is  to  us." 


204  The  Alkahest. 

The  two  sisters  clasped  hands  and  kissed  each  other, 
as  if  to  renew  some  pledge  of  union  before  the  coming 
disaster. 

"  Leave  us,  Martha." 

"  Dear  Marguerite,"  said  Emmanuel,  letting  the  hap- 
piness he  felt  in  conquering  the  lesser  rights  of  affec- 
tion sound  in  the  inflections  of  his  voice,  "  I  have 
procured  the  names  and  addresses  of  the  purchasers 
who  still  owe  the  remaining  two  hundred  thousand 
francs  on  the  felled  timber.  To-morrow,  if  you  give 
consent,  a  lawyer  acting  in  the  name  of  Monsieur 
Cony  neks,  who  will  not  disavow  the  act,  will  serve  an 
injunction  upon  them.  Six  days  hence,  by  which  time 
3'our  uncle  will  have  returned,  the  family  council  can 
be  called  together,  and  Gabriel  put  in  possession  of 
his  legal  rights,  for  he  is  now  eighteen.  You  and  your 
brother  being  thus  authorized  to  use  those  rights,  you 
will  demand  your  share  in  the  proceeds  of  the  timber. 
Monsieur  Claes  cannot  refuse  you  the  two  hundred 
thousand  francs  on  which  the  injunction  will  have  been 
put ;  as  to  the  remaining  hundred  thousand  which  is 
due  to  you,  yon  must  obtain  a  mortgage  on  this  house. 
Monsieur  Conyncks  will  demand  securities  for  the  three 
hundred  thousand  belonging  to  Felicie  and  Jean. 
Under  these  circumstances  your  father  wiU  be  obliged 
to  mortgage  his  property  on  the  plain  of  Orchies, 
which  he  has  already  encumbered  to  the  amount  of 


The  Alkahest.  205 

three  hundred  thousand  francs.  The  law  gives  a  n>tro- 
speetive  priority  to  the  claims  of  minors  ;  and  that  will 
save  you.  Monsieur  Claes's  hands  will  be  tied  for  the 
future ;  your  property  becomes  inalienable,  and  he  c-an 
no  longer  borrow  on  his  own  estates  because  they  will 
be  held  as  security  for  other  sums.  Moreover,  the 
whole  can  be  done  quietly,  without  scandal  or  U-gal 
proceedings.  Your  father  will  be  forced  to  gri-ater 
prudence  in  making  his  researches,  even  if  he  c^innot 
be  persuaded  to  relinquish  them  altogether." 

"  Yes,"  said  Marguerite,  "  but  where,  meantime,  can 
we  find  the  means  of  living?  The  hundred  thousand 
francs  for  which,  you  say,  I  must  obtain  a  mortgage  on 
this  house,  would  bring  in  nothing  while  we  still  live 
here.  The  proceeds  of  my  father's  property  in  the  coun- 
try' will  pay  the  interest  on  the  three  hundred  thousand 
francs  he  owes  to  others  ;  but  how  are  we  to  live  ?  " 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  Emmanuel,  "by  investing 
the  fifty  thousand  francs  which  belong  to  Gabriel  in  the 
public  Funds  you  will  get,  according  to  present  rates, 
more  than  four  thousand  francs'  income,  which  will 
suffice  to  pa}'  your  brother's  board  and  lodging  and  all 
his  other  expenses  in  Paris.  Gabriel  cannot  touch  the 
capital  until  he  is  of  age,  therefore  you  need  not  fear 
that  he  will  waste  a  penny  of  it,  and  you  will  have  one 
expense  the  less.  Besides,  you  will  have  your  owu 
fifty  thousand/' 


206  The  Alkahest, 

"My  father  will  ask  me  for  them,"  she  said  in  a 
frightened  tone;  "and  I  shall  not  be  able  to  refuse 
him." 

"  Well,  dear  Marguerite,  even  so,  you  can  evade 
that  by  robbing  yourself.  Place  3'our  money  in  the 
Grand-Livre  in  Gabriel's  name :  it  will  bring  you 
twelve  or  thirteen  thousand  francs  a  year.  Minors 
who  are  emancipated  cannot  sell  property  without  per- 
mission of  the  family  council ;  you  will  thus  gain  three 
years'  peace  of  mind.  By  that  time  your  father  will 
either  have  solved  his  problem  or  renounced  it ;  and 
Gabriel,  then  of  age,  wiU  reinvest  the  money  in  your 
own  name." 

Marguerite  made  him  explain  to  her  once  more  the 
legal  points  which  she  did  not  at  first  understand.  It 
was  certainly  a  novel  sight  to  see  this  pair  of  lovers 
poring  over  the  Code,  which  Emmanuel  had  brought 
with  him  to  show  his  mistress  the  laws  which  pro- 
tected the  property  of  minors ;  she  quickly  caught 
the  meaning  of  them,  thanks  to  the  natural  penetra- 
tion of  women,  which  in  this  case  love  still  further 
sharpened. 

Gabriel  came  home  to  his  father's  house  on  the  fol- 
lowing day.  When  Monsieur  de  Solis  brought  him  up 
to  Balthazar  and  told  of  his  admission  to  the  Ecole 
Poly  technique,  the  father  thanked  the  professor  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand,  and  said  :  — 


The  Alkahest.  207 

"T  am  very  glad;  Gabriel  may  become  a  man  of 


science." 


"Oh,  my  brother,"  cried  Marguerite,  as  Balthazar 
went  back  to  his  laboratory,  ''  work  hard,  waste  no 
money  ;  spend  what  is  necessary,  but  practise  economy. 
On  the  days  when  you  are  allowed  to  go  out.  pass 
your  time  with  our  friends  and  relations  ;  contract  none 
of  the  habits  which  ruin  young  men  in  Paris.  Yuur 
expenses  will  amount  to  nearly  three  thousand  francs, 
and  that  will  leave  you  a  thousand  francs  for  your 
pocket-money ;  that  is  surel}'  enough." 

"I  will  answer  for  him,"  said  Emmanuel  de  Soils, 
laying  his  hand  on  his  pupil's  shoulder. 

A  month  later,  Monsieur  Conyncks,  in  conjunction 
with  Marguerite,  had  obtained  all  necessary  securities 
from  Claes.  The  plan  so  wisely  proposed  by  Emman- 
uel de  Solis  was  fully  approved  and  executed.  Face  to 
face  with  the  law,  and  in  presence  of  his  cousin,  whose 
stern  sense  of  honor  allowed  no  compromise,  Balthazar, 
ashamed  of  the  sale  of  the  timber  to  which  he  had  con- 
sented at  a  moment  when  he  was  harassed  b}-  creditors, 
submitted  to  all  that  was  demanded  of  him.  Glad  to 
repair  the  almost  involuntar}'  wrong  that  he  had  done 
to  his  children,  he  signed  the  deeds  in  a  preoccupied 
way.  He  was  now  as  careless  and  improvident  as  a 
negro  who  sells  his  wife  in  the  morning  for  a  drop  of 
brandy,   and   cries   for   her  at  night.      He    gave    uo 


208  The  Alkahest. 

thought  to  even  the  immediate  future,  and  never  asked 
himself  what  resources  he  would  have  when  his  last 
ducat  was  melted  up.  He  pursued  his  work  and  con- 
tinued his  purchases,  apparently  unaware  that  he  was 
now  no  more  than  the  titular  owner  of  his  house  and 
lands,  and  that  he  could  not,  thanks  to  the  severit}'  of 
the  laws,  raise  another  penny  upon  a  propertj'  of  which 
he  was  now,  as  it  were,  the  legal  guardian. 

The  year  1818  ended  without  bringing  any  new  mis- 
fortune. The  sisters  paid  the  costs  of  Jean's  education 
and  met  all  the  expenses  of  the  household  out  of  the 
thirteen  thousand  francs  a  year  from  the  sum  placed  in 
the  Grand-Livre  in  Gabriel's  name,  which  he  punctually 
remitted  to  them.  Monsieur  de  Solis  lost  his  uncle, 
the  abbe,  in  December  of  that  year. 

Early  in  Januar}'  Marguerite  learned  through  Martha 
that  her  father  had  sold  his  collection  of  tulips,  also  the 
furuiture  of  the  front  house,  and  all  the  family  silver. 
She  was  obliged  to  buy  back  the  spoons  and  forks  that 
were  necessary  for  the  daily  service  of  the  table,  and 
these  she  now  ordered  to  be  stamped  with  her  initials. 
Until  that  day  Marguerite  had  kept  silence  towards 
her  father  on  the  subject  of  his  depredations,  but  that 
evening  after  dinner  she  requested  Felicie  to  leave  her 
alone  with  him,  and  when  he  seated  himself  as  usual  by 
the  corner  of  the  parlor  fireplace,  she  said  :  — 

"  M}^  dear  father,  you  are  the  master  here,  and  can 


The  Alkahest.  209 

Bell  everything,  even  your  children.  We  are  reach  to 
obey  you  without  a  murmur ;  but  I  am  forced  to  teL 
you  that  we  are  without  money,  that  we  have  barely 
enough  to  live  on,  and  that  FtiUcie  and  I  are  obliged  to 
work  night  and  day  to  pay  for  the  schooling  of  litUc 
Jean  with  the  price  of  the  lace  dress  we  are  now 
making.  My  dear  father,  I  implore  you  to  give  up 
your  researches." 

'*  You  are  right,  my  dear  chUd ;  in  six  weeks  they 
will  be  finished ;  I  shall  have  found  the  Absolute,  or 
the  Absolute  will  be  proved  undiscoverablc.  You  will 
have  millions  —  " 

"Give  us  meanwhile  the  bread  to  cat,"  replied 
Marguerite. 

"  Bread  ?  is  there  no  bread  here  ?"  said  Clai-s,  with 
a  frightened  air.  "  Xo  bread  in  the  house  of  a  Clai-s  ! 
What  has  become  of  our  property  ?  " 

"  You  have  cut  down  the  forest  of  "Waignics.  The 
ground  has  not  been  cleared  and  is  therefore  unproduc- 
tive. As  for  your  farms  at  Orchies,  the  rents  scarcely 
suffice  to  pa}'  the  interest  of  the  sums  you  have 
borrowed  —  " 

"  Then  what  are  we  living  on?  "  he  demanded. 

Marguerite  held  up  her  needle  and  continued  :  — 

"  Gabriel's  income  helps  us,  but  it  is  insutlicicnt ;  I 
can  make  both  ends  meet  at  the  close  of  the  year  if  you 
do  not  overwhelm  me  with  bills  that  I  do  not  eipect, 

14 


210  The  Alkahest. 

for  purchases  you  tell  me  nothing  about.  When  I  think 
I  have  enough  to  meet  m}'  quarterly  expenses  some  un- 
expected bill  for  potash,  or  zinc,  or  sulphur,  is  brought 
to  me." 

"My  dear  child,  have  patience  for  six  weeks;  after 
that,  I  will  be  judicious.  My  httle  Marguerite,  you 
shall  see  wonders." 

"  It  is  time  you  should  think  of  your  affairs.  You 
have  sold  everything,  —  pictures,  tulips,  plate  ;  nothing, 
is  left.     At  least,  refrain  from  making  debts." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  make  an}-  more  !  "  he  said. 

"  Any  more?  "  she  cried,  "  then  you  have  some  ?" 

"  Mere  trifles,"  he  said,  but  he  dropped  his  eyes  and 
colored. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Marguerite  felt  humiliated 
by  the  lowering  of  her  father's  character,  and  suffered 
from  it  so  much  that  she  dared  not  question  him. 

A  month  after  this  scene  one  of  the  Douai  bankers 
brought  a  bill  of  exchange  for  ten  thousand  francs 
signed  b}'  Claes.  Marguerite  asked  the  banker  to  wait 
a  day,  and  expressed  her  regret  that  she  had  not  been 
notified  to  prepare  for  this  paj-ment;  whereupon  he 
informed  her  that  the  house  of  Protez  and  Chiffreville 
held  nine  other  bills  to  the  same  amount,  falling  due  in 
consecutive  months. 

"All  is  over!"  cried  Marguerite,  "the  time  has 
come." 


The  Alkahest.  211 

She  sent  for  her  father,  and  walked  up  and  down  the 
parlor  with  hasty  steps,  talking  to  herself: 

"  A  hundred  thousand  francs  !  "  she  cried.  -  I  must 
find  them,  or  see  my  father  in  prison.  What  am  I  to 
do?" 

Balthazar  did  not  come.  Weary  of  waiting  for  him, 
Marguerite  went  up  to  the  laboratory.  As  she  entered 
she  saw  him  in  the  middle  of  an  immense,  briiliantlv- 
lighted  room,  filled  with  machinery  and  dusty  glass  ves- 
sels :  here  and  there  were  books,  and  tables  encumbered 
with  specimens  and  products  ticketed  and  numbtTeil. 
On  all  sides  the  disorder  of  scientific  pursuits  con- 
trasted strongly  with  Flemish  habits.  This  litter  of  re- 
torts and  vaporizers,  metals,  fantasticalh-  colored  crys- 
tals, specimens  hooked  upon  the  walls  or  lying  on  the 
furnaces,  surrounded  the  central  figure  of  Ikiltliazar 
Claes,  without  a  coat,  his  arms  bare  like  those  of  a 
workman,  his  breast  exposed,  and  showing  the  white 
hairs  which  covered  it.  His  e3'e8  were  gazing  wiili 
horrible  fixitj'  at  a  pneumatic  trough.  The  receiver  of 
this  instrument  was  covered  with  a  lens  made  of  double 
convex  glasses,  the  space  between  the  glasses  being 
filled  with  alchohol,  which  focussed  the  light  coming 
through  one  of  the  compartments  of  the  rose-window  of 
the  garret.  The  shelf  of  the  receiver  comraunicatecJ 
with  the  wire  of  an  immense  galvanic  battery.  Loiniil- 
quinier,  busy  at  the  moment  in  moving  the  pedestal  of 


212  The  Alkahest. 

the  machine,  which  was  placed  on  a  moA'able  axle  so  as 
to  keep  the  lens  in  a  perpendicular  direction  to  the  rays 
of  the  sun,  turned  round,  his  face  black  with  dust,  and 
called  out,  — 

"  Ha  !  mademoiselle,  don't  come  in." 

The  aspect  of  her  father,  half-kneeling  beside  the  in- 
strument, and  receiving  the  full  strength  of  the  sunlight 
upon  his  head,  the  protuberances  of  his  skull,  its  scanty 
hairs  resembling  threads  of  silver,  his  face  contracted 
by  the  agonies  of  expectation,  the  strangeness  of  the 
objects  that  surrounded  him,  the  obscurity  of  parts  of 
the  vast  garret  from  which  fantastic  engines  seemed 
about  to  spring,  all  contributed  to  startle  Marguerite, 
who  said  to  herself,  in  terror,  — 

"He  is  mad!" 

Then  she  went  up  to  him  and  whispered  in  his  ear, 
"  Send  away  Lemulquinier." 

"  No,  no,  m}'  child  ;  I  want  him  :  I  am  in  the  midst 
of  an  experiment  no  one  has  yet  thought  of.  For  the 
last  three  days  we  have  been  watching  for  every  ray  of 
sun.  I  now  have  the  means  of  submitting  metals,  in  a 
complete  vacuum,  to  concentrated  solar  fires  and  to 
electric  currents.  At  this  very  moment  the  most  pow- 
erful action  a  chemist  can  employ  is  about  to  show  re- 
sults which  I  alone  —  " 

"My  father,  instead  of  vaporizing  metals  you  should 
employ  them  in  paying  your  notes  of  hand  — " 


The  Alkahest.  213 

"Wait,  wait!" 

"  Monsieur  Mersktus  has  been  here,  father;  and  ho 
must  have  ten  thousand  francs  by  four  o'clock." 

"  Yes,  yes,  presently.  True,  I  did  sign  a  UtUe  note 
which  is  payable  this  month.  I  felt  sure  I  should  have 
found  the  Absolute.  Good  God  !  If  I  could  only  have 
a  July  sun  the  experiment  would  be  successful." 

He  grasped  his  head  and  sat  down  on  an  old  cane 
chair  ;  a  few  tears  rolled  from  his  eyes. 

"  Monsieur  is  quite  right,"  said  Lemulquiuicr ;  "  it  is 
all  the  fault  of  that  rascally  sun  which  is  too  feeble,  — 
the  coward,  the  lazy  thing !  " 

Master  and  valet  paid  no  further  attention  to  Mar- 
guerite. 

"  Leave  us,  Mulquinier,"  she  said. 

"  Ah  !  I  see  a  new  experiment !  "  cried  Claes. 

"Father,  la}-  aside  3'our  experiments,"  said  his 
daughter,  when  they  were  alone.  "  You  have  one 
hundred  thousand  francs  to  pay,  and  we  have  not  a 
penn}'.  Leave  your  laboratory  ;  your  honor  is  in  ques- 
tion. What  will  become  of  3'ou  if  you  are  put  in 
prison  ?  Will  you  soil  your  white  hairs  and  the  name 
of  Claes  with  the  disgrace  of  bankruptcy?  I  will  not 
allow  it.  I  shall  have  strength  to  oppose  your  mad- 
ness ;  it  would  be  dreadful  to  see  you  without  bread  in 
your  old  age.  Open  your  eyes  to  our  position ;  seo 
reason  at  last ! " 


214  The  Alkahest. 

"  Madness  !  "  cried  Balthazar,  struggling  to  his  feet. 
He  fixed  his  luminous  ej-es  upon  his  daughter,  crossed 
his  arms  on  his  breast,  and  repeated  the  word  "Mad- 
ness !  "  so  majestically  that  Marguerite  trembled. 

"Ah!"  he  cried,  "your  mother  would  never  have 
uttered  that  word  to  me.  She  was  not  ignorant  of  the 
importance  of  my  researches  ;  she  learned  a  science  to 
understand  me :  she  recognized  that  I  toiled  for  the 
human  race  ;  she  knew  there  was  nothing  sordid  or 
selfish  in  my  aims.  The  feelings  of  a  loving  wife  are 
higher,  I  see  it  now,  than  filial  affection.  Yes,  Love 
is  above  all  other  feelings.  See  reason  !  "  he  went  on, 
striking  his  breast.  "Do  I  lack  reason?  Am  I  not 
myself?  You  say  we  are  poor ;  well,  my  daughter,  I 
choose  it  to  be  so.  I  am  yoxxx  father,  obey  me.  I  will 
make  you  rich  when  I  please.  Your  fortune?  it  is  a 
pittance !  When  I  find  the  solvent  of  carbon  I  will 
fill  your  parlor  with  diamonds,  and  they  are  but  a  scin- 
tilla of  what  I  seek.  You  can  well  afford  to  wait  while 
I  consume  my  life  in  superhuman  efforts." 

' '  Father,  I  have  no  right  to  ask  an  account  of  the 
four  millions  you  have  already  engulfed  in  this  fatal 
garret.  I  will  not  speak  to  you  of  my  mother  whom 
you  killed.  If  I  had  a  husband,  I  should  love  him, 
doubtless,  as  she  loved  jon ;  I  should  be  ready  to  sac- 
rifice all  to  him,  as  she  sacrificed  all  for  yoxx.  I  have 
obeyed  her  orders  in  giving  myself  wholly  to  you ;  I 


The  Alkahest.  215 

have  proved  it  in  not  marrying  and  compelling  you  to 
render  an  account  of  your  guardianship.  Let  us  dis- 
miss the  past  and  think  of  the  present.  I  am  here  now 
to  represent  the  necessity  which  you  have  created  for 
yourself.  You  must  have  money  to  meet  your  notes  — 
do  you  understand  me?  There  is  nothing  lea  to  seize 
here  but  the  portrait  of  your  ancestor,  the  Claea 
martyr.  I  come  in  the  name  of  my  mother,  who  felt 
herself  too  feeble  to  defend  her  children  against  thrir 
father;  she  ordered  me  to  resist  you.  I  come  in  the 
name  of  my  brothers  and  my  sister :  I  come,  father,  in 
the  name  of  all  the  Claes,  and  I  command  3'ou  to  give 
up  your  experiments,  or  earn  the  means  of  pursuing 
them  hereafter,  if  pursue  them  you  must.  If  you  arm 
3"0urself  with  the  power  of  your  paternity,  which  you 
emplo}'  only  for  our  destruction,  I  have  on  my  side 
3^our  ancestors  and  3'our  honor,  whose  voice  is  louder 
than  that  of  chemistry.  The  Family  is  greater  than 
Science.     I  have  been  too  long  your  daughter." 

"And  you  choose  to  be  m}-  executioner,"  he  said,  in 
a  feeble  voice. 

Marguerite  turned  and  fled  away,  that  she  might  not 
abdicate  the  part  she  had  just  assumed :  she  fancied 
she  heard  again  her  mother's  voice  saying  to  her,  "  De 
not  oppose  your  father  too  much  ;  love  liim  well." 


216  The  Alkahest. 


XII. 

"Mademoiselle  has  made  a  pretty  piece  of  work 
up  yonder,"  said  Lemulquinier,  coming  down  to  the 
kitchen  for  his  breakfast.  "  We  were  just  going  to  put 
our  hands  on  the  great  secret,  we  only  wanted  a  scrap 
of  July  sun,  for  monsieur,  —  ah,  what  a  man !  he  's 
almost  in  the  shoes  of  the  good  God  himself !  —  was 
almost  within  that,"  he  said  to  Josette,  clicking  his 
thumbnail  against  a  front  tooth,  "  of  getting  hold  of 
the  Absolute,  when  up  she  came,  slam  bang,  scream- 
ing some  nonsense  about  notes  of  hand." 

"  Well,  pay  them  yourself,"  said  Martha,  "  out  of 
j-our  wages." 

"Where's  the  butter  for  my  bread?"  said  Lemul- 
quinier to  the  cook. 

"Where's  the  money  to  buy  it?"  she  answered, 
sharply.  "  Come,  old  villain,  if  you  make  gold  in  that 
devil's  kitchen  of  yours,  why  don't  you  make  butter? 
'T  would  n't  be  half  so  difficult,  and  you  could  sell  it  in 
the  market  for  enough  to  make  the  pot  boil.  We  all 
eat  dry  bread.  The  young  ladies  are  satisfied  with  dry 
bread  and  nuts,  and  do  you  expect  to  be  better  fed 
than  your  masters?    Mademoiselle  won't  spend  more 


The  Alkahest.  217 

ihan  one  hundred  francs  a  month  for  the  whole  house- 
hold. There  's  only  one  dinner  for  all.  If  you  want 
dainties  you  've  got  your  furnaces  upstairs  where  you 
fricassee  pearls  till  there's  nothing  else  talketi  of  iu 
towa.     Get  your  roast  chickens  up  there." 

Lemulquinier  took  his  dry  bread  and  went  out. 

"  He  will  go  and  buy  something  to  eat  with  his  own 
money,"  said  Martha  ;  "all  the  better,  —it  is  just  so 
much  saved.     Is  n't  he  stingy,  the  old  scarecrow  !  " 

"  Starve  him  !  that's  the  only  way  to  manage  him,"  said 
Josette.  "  For  a  week  past  he  has  n't  rubbed  a  single 
floor  ;  I  have  to  do  his  work,  for  he  is  always  upstairs. 
He  can  verj'  weU  aflTord  to  pay  me  for  it  with  the  pres- 
ent of  a  few  herrings ;  if  he  brings  any  home,  I  bhall 
lay  hands  on  them,  I  can  tell  him  that." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Martha,  "I  hear  Mademoiselle 
Marguerite  crying.  Her  wizard  of  a  father  would 
swallow  the  house  at  a  gulp  without  asking  a  Christian 
blessing,  the  old  sorcerer !  In  my  country  he  'd  bo 
burned  alive ;  but  people  here  have  no  more  religion 
than  4;he  Moors  in  Africa." 

Marguerite  could  scared}'  stifle  her  sobs  as  she  came 
through  the  gallery.  She  reached  her  room,  took  out 
her  mother's  letter,  and  read  as  follows :  — 

My  Child,  —  If  God  so  wills,  my  spirit  will  be  within  your 
heart  when  you  read  these  words,  the  last  I  shall  ever  write; 
they  are  full  of  love  for  my  dear  ones,  left  at  the  mercy  of  a 


218  The  Alkahest. 

demon  whom  I  have  not  been  able  to  resist.  When  you  read 
these  words  he  will  have  taken  your  last  crust,  just  as  he 
took  my  life  and  squandered  my  love.  You  know,  my  dar- 
ling, if  I  loved  your  father:  I  die  loving  him  less,  for  I  take 
precautions  against  him  which  I  never  could  have  practised 
while  living.  Yes,  in  the  depths  of  my  coffin  I  shall  have 
kept  a  last  resource  for  the  day  when  some  terrible  misfortune 
overtakes  you.  If  when  that  day  comes  you  are  reduced  to 
poverty,  or  if  your  honor  is  in  question,  my  child,  send  for 
Monsieur  de  Solis,  should  he  be  living, —  if  not,  for  his  nephew, 
our  good  Emmanuel;  they  hold  one  hundred  and  seventy  thou- 
sand francs  which  are  yours  and  will  enable  you  to  live. 

If  nothing  shall  have  subdued  his  passion  ;  if  his  children 
prove  no  stronger  barrier  than  my  happiness  has  been,  and 
cannot  stop  his  criminal  career,  —  leave  him,  leave  your 
father,  that  you  may  live.  I  could  not  forsake  him;  I  was 
bound  to  him.  You,  Marguerite,  you  must  save  the  family. 
1  absolve  you  for  all  you  may  do  to  defend  Gabriel  and  Jean 
and  Felicie.  Take  courage;  be  the  guardian  angel  of  the 
Claes.  Be  firm,  —  I  dare  not  say  be  pitiless ;  but  to  repair  the 
evil  already  done  you  must  keep  some  means  at  hand.  On 
the  day  when  you  read  this  letter,  regard  yourself  as  ruined 
already,  for  nothing  will  stay  the  fury  of  that  passion  which 
has  torn  all  things  from  me. 

My  child,  remember  this:  the  truest  love  is  to  forget  your 
heart.  Even  though  you  be  forced  to  deceive  your  father, 
your  dissimulation  will  be  blessed;  your  actions,  however 
blamable  they  may  seem,  will  be  heroic  if  taken  to  protect 
the  family.  The  virtuous  Monsieur  de  Solis  tells  me  so; 
and  no  conscience  was  ever  purer  or  more  enlightened  than 
his.  I  could  never  have  had  the  courage  to  speak  these 
words  to  you,  even  with  my  dying  breath. 


The  Alkahest.  21  "J 

And  yet,  my  daughter,  be  respectful,  be  kind  in  the  dreati- 
ful  struggle.  Resist  him,  but  love  him;  deny  him  gently. 
My  hidden  tears,  my  inward  griefs  will  be  known  only  when 
I  am  dead.  Kiss  my  dear  children  in  my  name  when  the 
hour  comes  and  you  are  called  upon  to  protect  them. 

May  God  and  the  saints  be  with  youl 

JOSEPUI.NK. 

To  this  letter  was  added  au  acknowloilgnicut  from 
the  Messieurs  de  Solis,  uncle  and  nephew,  who  thereby 
bound  themselves  to  place  the  money  intrusted  to  them 
by  Madame  Claes  in  the  hands  of  whoever  of  her  child- 
ren should  present  the  paper. 

"  Martha,"  cried  Marguerite  to  the  duenna,  who 
came  quickly  ;  "  go  to  Monsieur  Emmanuel  de  Solis, 
and  ask  him  to  come  to  me. — Noble,  discreet  heart! 
he  never  told  me,"  she  thought ;  "  though  all  my  griefs 
and  cares  are  his,  he  never  told  me  ! " 

Emmanuel  came  before  Martha  could  get  back. 

"  You  have  kept  a  secret  from  me,"  she  said,  show- 
ing him  her  mother's  letter. 

Emmanuel  bent  his  head. 

"  Marguerite,  are  you  in  great  trouble?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  "  be  my  support,  —  you,  whom 
my  mother  calls  '  our  good  Emmanuel.'  "  She  showed 
him  the  letter,  unable  to  repress  her  joy  in  knowing 
that  her  mother  approved  her  choice. 

"  My  blood  and  my  life  were  yours  on  the  morrow 
of  the  day  when  I  first  saw  you  in  the  gallery,"  he  said  ; 


220  The  Alkahest. 

"  but  I  scarcely  dared  to  hope  the  time  might  come 
when  you  would  accept  them.  If  you  know  me  well, 
you  know  my  word  is  sacred.  Forgive  the  absolute 
obedience  I  have  paid  to  your  mother's  wishes  ;  it  was 
not  for  me  to  judge  her  intentions." 

"  You  have  saved  us,"  she  said,  interrupting  him, 
and  taking  his  arm  to  go  down  to  the  parlor. 

After  hearing  from  Emmanuel  the  origin  of  the 
money  intrusted  to  him,  Marguerite  confided  to  him 
the  terrible  straits  in  which  the  family  now  found 
themselves. 

"  I  must  pay  those  notes  at  once,"  said  Emmanuel. 
"  If  Mersktus  holds  them  all,  you  can  at  least  save  the 
interest.  I  will  bring  you  the  remaining  seventy  thou- 
sand francs.  M}"  poor  uncle  left  me  quite  a  large  sum 
in  ducats,  which  are  easy  to  carry  secretly." 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said,  "  bring  them  at  night ;  we  can  hide 
them  when  my  father  is  asleep.  If  he  knew  that  I  had 
money,  he  might  try  to  force  it  from  me.  Oh,  Em- 
manuel, think  what  it  is  to  distrust  a  father !  "  she  said, 
weeping  and  resting  her  forehead  against  the  young 
man's  heart. 

This  sad,  confiding  movement,  with  which  the  young 
girl  asked  protection,  was  the  first  expression  of  a  love 
hitherto  wrapped  in  melancholy  and  restrained  within 
a  sphere  of  grief:  the  heart,  too  full,  was  forced  to 
overflow  beneath  the  pressure  of  this  new  misery. 


The  Alkahest.  '221 

"What  can  we  do;  what  will  become  of  us?  He 
sees  nothing,  he  cares  for  nothing,  —  neither  for  us  nor 
for  himself.  I  know  not  how  he  can  Uve  in  that  garret, 
where  the  air  is  stifling." 

"  What  can  you  expect  of  a  man  who  calls  inces- 
santly, like  Richard  III.,  '  My  kingdom  for  a  horse'?" 
said  Emmanuel.  "He  is  pitiless;  and  in  that  you 
must  imitate  him.  Pay  his  notes  ;  give  him,  if  you  will, 
your  whole  fortune  ;  but  that  of  your  sister  and  of  your 
brothers  is  neither  yours  nor  his." 

"Give  him  my  fortune?"  she  said,  pressing  her 
lover's  hand  and  looking  at  him  with  ardor  in  her  eyes ; 
"you  advise  it,  you! — and  Pierquin  told  a  hundred 
lies  to  make  me  keep  it ! " 

"Alas!  I  may  be  selfish  in  m}-  own  wa}',"  he  said. 
"  Sometimes  I  long  for  3-ou  without  fortune  ;  you  seem 
nearer  to  me  then  !  At  other  times  I  want  you  rich  and 
happy,  and  I  feel  how  paltr}'  it  is  to  think  that  the  poor 
grandeurs  of  wealth  can  separate  us." 

"  Dear,  let  us  not  speak  of  ourselves." 

"Ourselves!"  he  repeated,  with  rapture.  Then, 
after  a  pause,  he  added :  "  The  exML  is  great,  but  it  is 
not  irreparable." 

"  It  can  be  repaired  only  by  us :  the  Claes  family  has 
now  no  head.  To  reach  the  stage  of  being  neither  father 
nor  man,  to  have  no  consciousness  of  justice  or  injus- 
tice (for,  in  defiance  of  the  laws,  he  has  dissipaU-d  — 


222  The  Alkahest. 

he,  so  great,  so  noble,  so  upright  —  the  propert}'  of  the 
children  he  was  bound  to  defend),  oh,  to  what  depths 
must  he  have  fallen  !  My  God  I  what  is  this  thing  he 
seeks  ? " 

"  Unfortunately^  dear  Marguerite,  wrong  as  he  is  in 
his  relation  to  his  family,  he  is  right  scientifically.  A 
score  of  men  in  Europe  admire  him  for  the  ver}'  thing 
which  others  count  as  madness.  But  nevertheless  j'ou 
must,  without  scruple,  refuse  to  let  him  take  the  prop- 
erty of  his  children.  Great  discoveries  have  always 
been  accidental.  If  your  father  ever  finds  the  solution 
of  the  problem,  it  will  be  when  it  costs  him  nothing ;  in 
a  moment,  perhaps,  when  he  despairs  of  it." 

"  My  poor  mother  is  happy,"  said  Marguerite  ;  "  she 
would  have  suffered  a  thousand  deaths  before  she  died : 
as  it  was,  her  first  encounter  with  Science  killed  her. 
Alas  !  the  strife  is  endless." 

"There  is  an  end,"  said  Emmanuel.  "When  you 
have  nothing  left.  Monsieur  Claes  can  get  no  further 
credit ;  then  he  will  stop." 

"Let  him  stop  now,  then,"  cried  Marguerite,  "for 
we  are  without  a  penny ! " 

Monsieur  de  Soils  went  to  buy  up  Claes's  notes  and 
returned,  bringing  them  to  Marguerite.  Balthazar,  con- 
trarj'  to  his  custom,  came  down  a  few  moments  before 
dinner.  For  the  first  time  in  two  years  his  daughter 
noticed  the  signs  of  a  human  grief  upon  his  face  :  he 


TJie  Alkahest.  223 

was  again  a  father,  reason  ami  jiulgmont  had  ovorcomo 
Science ;  he  looked  into  the  court-yard,  then  into  iho 
garden,  and  when  certain  that  he  was  alone  with  bin 
daughter,  he  came  up  to  her  with  a  look  of  mclaueholy 
kindness. 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  and  pressing 
it  with  persuasive  tenderness,  '*  forgive  your  old  fatiier. 
Yes,  Marguerite,  I  have  done  wrong.  You  sixike  Irulv. 
So  long  as  I  have  not  foimd  I  am  a  miserable  wretch. 
I  will  go  away  from  here.  I  cannot  see  Van  Claes 
sold,"  he  went  on,  pointing  to  the  martyr's  i)orlrait. 
"  He  died  for  Liberty,  I  die  for  Science ;  he  is  vent-r- 
ated, I  am  hated." 

"  Hated?  oh,  mj'  father,  no,"  she  cried,  throwing 
herself  on  his  breast ;  "  we  all  adore  you.  Do  we  not, 
Felicie  ? "  she  said,  turning  to  her  sister  who  came  iu 
at  the  moment. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  father?"  said  his  young- 
est daughter,  taking  his  hand. 

"  I  have  ruined  you." 

"Ah!  "  cried  Felicie,  "  but  our  brothers  will  make 
our  fortune.     Jean  is  always  at  the  head  of  his  class." 

"See,  father,"  said  Marguerite,  leading  Hullhazar 
in  a  coaxing,  filial  way  to  the  chimnej'-piece  and  taking 
some  papers  from  beneath  the  clock,  "here  arc  your 
notes  of  hand  ;  but  do  not  sign  any  more,  there  i* 
nothing  left  to  pay  them  with  —  " 


224  The  Alkahest. 

"Then  you  have  money?"  whispered  Balthazar  in 
her  ear,  when  he  recovered  from  his  surprise. 

His  words  and  manner  tortured  the  heroic  girl ;  she 
saw  the  delii'ium  of  joy  and  hope  in  her  father's  face  as 
he  looked  about  him  to  discover  the  gold. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  I  have  mj'  own  fortune." 

"Give  it  to  me,"  he  said  with  a  rapacious  gesture; 
"  I  will  return  you  a  hundred-fold." 

"  Yes,  I  will  give  it  to  you,"  answered  Marguerite, 
looking  gravely  at  Balthazar,  who  did  not  know  the 
meaning  she  put  into  her  words. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  daughter !  "  he  cried,  "  you  save  my 
life.  I  have  thought  of  a  last  experiment,  after  which 
nothing  more  is  possible.  If,  this  time,  I  do  not  find 
the  Absolute,  I  must  renounce  the  search.  Come  to 
my  arms,  my  darling  child ;  I  will  make  you  the 
happiest  woman  upon  earth.  You  give  me  glory ;  yon 
bring  me  back  to  happiness ;  you  bestow  the  power  to 
heap  treasures  upon  my  children  —  yes !  I  will  load 
you  with  jewels,  with  wealth." 

He  kissed  his  daughter's  forehead,  took  her  hands 
and  pressed  them,  and  testified  his  joy  by  fondhng  ca- 
resses which  to  Marguerite  seemed  almost  obsequious. 
During  the  dinner  he  thought  only  of  her ;  he  looked 
at  her  eagerly  with  the  assiduous  devotion  displayed 
by  a  lover  to  his  mistress :  if  she  made  a  movement, 
he  tried  to  divine  her  wish,  and  rose  to  fulfil  it;   he 


The  Alkaheft.  225 

made  her  ashamed  by  the  youthful  eagerneas  of  his 
attentions,  which  were  painfully  out  of  keei)ing  with  hia 
premature  old  age.  To  all  these  cajoleries,  Marguerit« 
herself  presented  the  contrast  of  actual  distress,  shown 
sometimes  by  a  word  of  doubt,  sometimes  by  a  glauco 
along  the  empty  shelves  of  the  sideboards  in  the  dining- 
room. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  following  her  ej-e,  "in  six 
months  we  shall  fill  them  again  with  gold,  and  marvi-l- 
lous  things.  You  shall  be  hke  a  queen.  Bah  !  nature 
herself  will  belong  to  us,  we  shall  rise  above  all  cn-atctl 
beings  —  thi-ough  you,  you,  my  Marguerite  !  Marga- 
rita," he  said,  smiUng,  "thy  name  is  a  prophecy. 
'  Margarita '  means  a  pearl.  Sterne  says  so  somewhere. 
Did  you  ever  read  Sterne  ?  Would  you  like  to  have  a 
Sterne  ?  it  would  amuse  you." 

"  A  pearl,  the}-  say,  is  the  result  of  a  disease,"  she 
answered ;  "  we  have  suffered  enough  already." 

"Do  not  be  sad;  30U  will  make  the  happiness  of 
those  you  love  ;  30U  shall  be  rich  and  all-powerful." 

"Mademoiselle  has  got  such  a  gootl  heart,"  said 
Lemulquinier,  whose  seamed  face  stretched  itself  pain- 
fully into  a  smile. 

For  the  rest  of  the  evening  Balthazar  displayed  to  his 
daughters  all  the  natural  graces  of  his  character  uiid 
the  charms  of  his  conversation.  Seductive  as  the  ser- 
pent, his  lips,  his  eyes,  poured  out  a  magnetic  fluid  ;  he 

15 


226  The  Alkahest. 

put  forth  that  power  of  genius,  that  gentleness  of  spirit 
which  once  fascinated  Josephine  and  now  drew,  as  it 
were,  his  daughters  into  his  heart.  When  Emmanuel  de 
Soils  came  he  found,  for  the  first  time  in  manj^  months, 
the  father  and  the  children  reunited.  The  young  pro- 
fessor, in  spite  of  his  reserve,  came  under  the  influence 
of  the  scene  ;  for  Claes's  manners  and  conversation  had 
recovered  their  former  irresistible  seduction  ! 

Men  of  science,  plunged  though  they  be  in  abysses  of 
thought  and  ceaselessly  employed  in  studying  the  moral 
world,  take  notice,  nevertheless,  of  the  smallest  details 
of  the  sphere  in  which  they  live.  More  out  of  date  with 
their  surroundings  than  really  absent-minded,  the}'  are 
never  in  harmony  with  the  life  about  them ;  they  know 
and  forget  all ;  they  prejudge  the  future  in  their  own 
minds,  prophesy  to  their  own  souls,  know  of  an  event 
before  it  happens,  and  yet  they  say  nothing  of  all  this. 
If,  in  the  hush  of  meditation,  thej'  sometimes  use  their 
power  to  observe  and  recognize  that  which  goes  on 
around  them,  they  are  satisfied  with  having  divined  its 
meaning;  their  occupations  hurry  them  on,  and  they 
frequently  make  false  application  of  the  knowledge  ihey 
have  acquired  about  the  things  of  life.  Sometimes 
they  wake  from  their  social  apath}^  or  they  drop  from 
the  world  of  thought  to  the  world  of  life  ;  at  such  times 
they  come  with  well-stored  memories,  and  are  by  no 
means  strangers  to  what  is  happening. 


TJie  Alkahett.  O'"* 


>>< 


Balthazar,  who  joined  the  perspicacity  of  the  heart  to 
that  of  the  brain,  knew  his  daughter's  whole  pa*.t ;  he 
knew,  or  he  had  guessed,  the  history  of  the  hidden  love 
that  united  her  with  Emmanuel :  he  now  showed  this 
delicately,  and  sanctioned  their  affection  ]»y  tiikintr  imrl 
in  it.  It  was  the  sweetest  flattery  a  father  could  l>e- 
stow,  and  the  lovers  were  unable  to  resist  it.  The  even- 
ing passed  delightfully,  —  contrasting  with  the  priefs 
which  threatened  the  lives  of  these  poor  children. 
When  Balthazar  retired,  after,  as  we  may  say,  filUng  his 
family  with  light  and  bathing  them  with  tenderness, 
Emmanuel  de  Solis,  who  had  shown  some  embarniss- 
ment  of  manner,  took  from  his  pockets  three  thousand 
ducats  in  gold,  the  possession  of  which  he  had  fcunxl 
to  betraj*.  He  placed  them  on  the  work-table,  where 
Marguerite  covered  them  with  some  linen  she  was 
mending ;  and  then  he  went  to  his  own  house  to  fet4-h 
the  rest  of  the  mone}'.  "When  he  returned,  Felicic  hail 
gone  to  bed.  Eleven  o'clock  struck  ;  Martha,  who  sat 
up  to  undress  her  mistress,  was  still  with  Felicie. 

"Where  can  we  hide  it?"  said  Marguerite,  unable 
to  resist  the  pleasure  of  playing  with  the  gold  ducats,  — 
a  childish  amusement  which  proved  disastrous. 

"I  will  lift  this  marble  pedestal,  which  is  hollow," 
said  Emmanuel;  "you  can  slip  in  the  packages,  and 
the  devil  himself  will  not  think  of  looking  for  them 
there." 


228  The  Alkahest. 

Just  as  Marguerite  was  making  her  last  trip  but  one 
from  the  work-table  to  the  pedestal,  carrying  the  gold, 
she  suddenly  gave  a  piercing  cry,  and  let  fall  the  pack- 
ages, the  covers  of  which  broke  as  they  fell,  and  the 
coins  were  scattered  about  the  room.  Her  father  stood 
at  the  parlor  door ;  the  avidity  of  his  eyes  terrified  her. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  he  said,  looking  first  at 
his  daughter,  whose  terror  nailed  her  to  the  floor,  and 
then  at  the  young  man,  who  had  hastily  sprung  up,  — 
though  his  attitude  beside  the  pedestal  was  suflEiciently 
significant.  The  rattle  of  the  gold  upon  the  ground 
was  horrible,  the  scattering  of  it  prophetic. 

"  I  could  not  be  mistaken,"  said  Balthazar,  sitting 
down  ;  "  I  heard  the  sound  of  gold." 

He  was  not  less  agitated  than  the  3'oung  people,  whose 
hearts  were  beating  so  in  unison  that  their  throbs  might 
be  heard,  like  the  ticking  of  a  clock,  amid  the  profound 
silence  which  suddenly  settled  on  the  parlor. 

"Thank  you,  Monsieur  de  Soils,"  said  Marguerite, 
giving  Emmanuel  a  glance  which  meant,  "  Come  to  m}* 
rescue  and  help  me  to  save  this  money." 

"  "What  gold  is  this?  "  resumed  Balthazar,  casting  at 
Marguerite  and  Emmanuel  a  glance  of  terrible  clear- 
sightedness. 

"This  gold  belongs  to  Monsieur  de  Soils,  who  is 
kind  enough  to  lend  it  to  me  that  I  may  pay  our  debts 
honorably,"  she  answered. 


The  Alkahest.  2*29 

Emmanuel  colored  and  turned  as  though  about  tr 
leave  the  room  :  Balthazar  caught  him  by  tlie  arm. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said,  "you  must  not  escape  my 
thanks." 

"  Monsieur,  you  owe  me  none.  This  money  belongs 
to  Mademoiselle  Marguerite,  who  Iwrrows  it  from  me 
on  the  security  of  her  own  property,"  Emmanuel  re- 
plied, looking  at  his  mistress,  who  thankwl  hiui  wiUi 
an  almost  imperceptible  movement  of  her  eveUils. 

"  I  shall  not  aUow  that,"  said  ClaiJs,  taking  a  j>on 
and  a  sheet  of  paper  from  the  table  whore  Fclicio  did 
her  writing,  and  turning  to  the  astonished  young  jmx)- 
pie.  "How  much  is  it?"  His  eager  passion  m.ndo 
him  more  astute  than  the  wiliest  of  rascally  bailiffs : 
the  sum  was  to  be  his.  Marguerite  and  Monsieur  de 
Solis  hesitated. 

"  Let  us  count  it,"  he  said. 

"  There  are  six  thousand  ducats,"  said  Emmanuel. 

"  Seventy  thousand  francs,"  remarked  Clacs. 

The  glance  which  Marguerite  threw  at  her  lover  gave 
him  courage. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said,  "  your  note  bears  no  value ; 
pardon  this  purely  technical  term.  I  have  to-day  lent 
Mademoiselle  Claes  one  hundred  thousand  francs  to 
redeem  your  notes  of  hand  which  you  had  no  means  of 
paying :  you  are  therefore  unable  to  give  me  any  secur- 
it}'.     These  one  hundred  and  seventy  thousand  franca 


230  The  Alkahest. 

belong  to  Mademoiselle  Claes,  who  can  dispose  of 
them  as  she  sees  fit ;  but  I  have  lent  them  on  a 
pledge  that  she  will  sign  a  deed  securing  them  to  me 
on  her  share  of  the  now  denuded  land  of  the  forest 
of  Waignies." 

Marguerite  turned  awa}'  her  head  that  her  lover  might 
not  see  the  tears  that  gathered  in  her  eyes.  She  knew 
Emmanuel's  purity  of  soul.  Brought  up  by  his  uncle 
to  the  pi'actice  of  the  sternest  religious  virtues,  the 
young  man  had  an  especial  horror  of  falsehood :  after 
giving  his  heart  and  life  to  Marguerite  Claes  he  now 
made  her  the  sacrifice  of  his  conscience. 

"Adieu,  monsieur,"  said  Balthazar,  "  I  thought  you 
had  more  confidence  in  a  man  who  looked  upon  you 
with  the  eyes  of  a  father," 

After  exchanging  a  despairing  look  with  Marguerite, 
Emmanuel  was  shown  out  by  Martha,  who  closed  and 
fastened  the  street-door. 

The  moment  the  father  and  daughter  were  alone  Claes 
said,  — 

"  You  love  me,  do  j^ou  not?" 

"  Come  to  the  point,  father.  You  want  this  money  : 
you  cannot  have  it." 

She  began  to  pick  up  the  coins ;  her  father  silentl}'- 
helped  her  to  gather  them  together  and  count  the  sum 
she  had  dropped  ;  Marguerite  allowed  him  to  do  so  with- 
out manifesting  the  least  distrust.    When  two  thousand 


The  Alkahegt.  '2?,\ 

ducats  were  piled  on  the  table,  Balthazur  said,  with  a 
desperate  air,  — 

"  Marguerite,  I  must  have  that  money." 

"  If  you  take  it,  it  will  be  robbery,"  she  replied 
coldly.  "  Hear  me,  father:  better  kill  us  at  one  blow 
than  make  us  suffer  a  hundred  deaths  a  day.  Let  it 
now  be  seen  which  of  us  must  yield." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  kill  your  father?  " 

"  We  avenge  our  mother,"  she  said,  ix»intiug  to  the 
spot  where  Madame  Claes  died. 

*'  My  daughter,  if  you  knew  the  truth  of  this  nmtt*T, 
you  would  not  use  those  words  to  me.  Listen,  ami  I 
will  endeavor  to  explain  the  great  problem  —  but  no, 
you  cannot  comprehend  me,"  he  cried  in  accents  of 
despair.  "Come,  give  me  the  money;  believe  for 
once  in  3'our  father.  Yes,  I  know  I  caused  your 
mother  pain :  I  have  dissipated  —  to  use  the  worti  of 
fools  —  my  own  fortune  and  injured  3'ours  ;  I  know  my 
children  are  sacrificed  for  a  thing  you  call  madness ; 
but  my  angel,  my  darling,  my  love,  my  MargiK-rite, 
hear  me  !  If  I  do  not  now  succeed,  I  will  give  myself 
up  to  you ;  I  will  obe}'  you  as  you  arc  bound  to  obey 
me ;  I  will  do  j'our  will ;  you  shall  take  charge  of  all 
my  property  ;  I  will  no  longer  be  the  guardian  of  ray 
children  ;  I  pledge  myself  to  lay  down  my  authority.  I 
swear  by  your  mother's  memory  !  "  he  cried,  shedding 
tears. 


232  The  Alkahest. 

Marguerite  turned  away  her  head,  unable  to  bear  the 
sight.  Claes,  thinking  she  meant  to  yield,  flung  him- 
self on  his  knees  beside  her. 

"  Marguerite,  Marguerite  !  give  it  to  me  —  give  it !  " 
he  cried.  "  What  are  sixty  thousand  francs  against 
eternal  remorse?  See,  I  shall  die,  this  will  kill  me. 
Listen,  mv  word  is  sacred.  If  I  fail  now  I  wiU  abandon 
my  labors  ;  I  will  leave  Flanders,  —  France  even,  if  you 
demand  it ;  I  will  go  away  and  toil  like  a  day-laborer 
to  recover,  sou  by  sou,  the  fortunes  I  have  lost,  and 
restore  to  my  children  all  that  Science  has  taken  from 
them." 

Marguerite  tried  to  raise  her  father,  but  he  per- 
sisted in  remaining  on  his  knees,  and  continued,  still 
weeping :  — 

"  Be  tender  and  obedient  for  this  last  time  !  If  I  do 
not  succeed,  I  will  myself  declare  j'our  hardness  just. 
You  shall  call  me  a  fool ;  you  shall  say  I  am  a  bad 
father ;  you  may  even  tell  me  that  I  am  ignorant  and 
incapable.  And  when  I  hear  you  say  those  words  I 
will  kiss  your  hands.  You  may  beat  me,  if  you  will, 
and  when  you  strike  I  will  bless  you  as  the  best  of 
daughters,  remembering  that  you  have  given  me  your 
blood." 

"If  it  were  my  blood,  my  life's  blood,  I  would  give 
it  to  you,"  she  cried;  "  but  can  I  let  Science  cut  the 
throats  of  my  brothers  and   my  sister?    No.     Cease, 


The  Alkahest.  238 

cease !  "  she  said,  wiping  her  tears  and  pushing  aside 
her  father's  caressing  hands. 

"  Sixty  thousand  francs  and  two  months,"  he  said, 
rising  in  anger;  "  that  is  all  I  want:  but  my  daughU-r 
stands  between  me  and  fame  and  wealth.  I  curse 
you!"  he  went  on;  ''you  are  no  daughter  of  mine, 
you  are  not  a  woman,  you  have  no  heart,  you  will 
never  be  a  mother  or  a  wife !  —  Give  it  to  me,  let 
me  take  it,  my  little  one,  my  precious  child,  I  will  love 
you  forever,"  —  and  he  stretched  his  hand  with  a 
movement  of  hideous  energv  towards  the  sold. 

"  I  am  helpless  against  physical  force  ;  but  God  and 
the  great  Claes  see  us  now,"  she  said,  ix)inting  to  the 
picture. 

*'  Try  to  live,  if  j'ou  can,  with  your  father's  bloocl 
upon  you,"  cried  Balthazar,  looking  at  her  with  abhor- 
rence. He  rose,  glanced  round  the  room  and  slowly 
left  it.  When  he  reached  the  door  he  turned  as  a  beg- 
gar might  have  done  and  implored  his  daughter  with  a 
gesture,  to  which  she  replied  b}-  a  negative  motion  of 
her  head. 

"  Farewell,  vay  daughter,"  he  said,  gently,  "  may  you 
live  happy !  " 

When  he  had  disappeared,  Marguerite  remained  in  a 
trance  which  separated  her  from  earth ;  she  was  no 
longer  in  the  parlor ;  she  lost  consciousness  of  phys- 
ical existence ;   she  had  wings,  and  soared   amid   the 


234  The  Alkahest. 

immensities  of  the  moral  world,  where  Thought  con- 
tracts the  limits  both  of  Time  and  Space,  where  a 
divine  hand  lifts  the  veil  of  the  Future.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  days  elapsed  between  each  footfall  of  her 
father  as  he  went  up  the  stairs ;  then  a  shudder  of 
dread  went  ©ver  her  as  she  heard  him  enter  his  cham- 
ber. Guided  by  a  presentiment  which  flashed  into  her 
soul  with  the  piercing  keenness  of  lightning,  she  ran  up 
the  stairway,  without  light,  without  noise,  with  the  ve- 
locity of  an  arrow,  and  saw  her  father  with  a  pistol  at 
his  head. 

"  Take  all !  "  she  cried,  springing  towards  him. 

She  fell  into  a  chair.  Balthazar,  seeing  her  pallor, 
began  to  weep  as  old  men  weep ;  he  became  like  a 
child,  he  kissed  her  brow,  he  spoke  in  disconnected 
words,  he  almost  danced  with  joy,  and  tried  to  play 
with  her  as  a  lover  with  a  mistress  who  has  made  him 
happy. 

"Enough,  father,  enough,"  she  said;  "remember 
your  promise.  If  you  do  not  succeed  now,  3'ou  pledge 
yourself  to  obey  me  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

' '  Oh,  mother !  "  she  cried  turning  towards  Madame 
Claes's  chamber,  '-''you  would  have  given  him  all  — 
would  3^ou  not  ?  " 

"  Sleep  in  peace,"  said  Balthazar,  "you  are  a  good 
daughter." 


The  Alhih^^t.  235 

"Sleep!"  she  said,  ''the  nights  of  my  youth  are 
gone;  you  have  made  me  old.  father,  just  as  \o\x 
slowly  withered  my  mother's  heart." 

"  Poor  child,  would  I  could  re-assure  you  by  explain- 
ing the  effects  of  the  glorious  experiment  I  have  now 
imagined !  30U  would  then  comprehend  the  truth." 

"  I  comprehend  our  ruin,"  she  said,  leaving  him. 

The  next  morning,  being  a  holiday,  Enmianui'l  de 
SoUs  brought  Jean  to  spend  the  day. 

"  "Well?  "  he  said,  approaching  Marguerite  anxiously. 

"  I  yielded,"  she  replied. 

"My  dear  life,"  he  said,  with  a  gesture  of  molan- 
chol}'  joy,  "if  you  had  withstood  him  I  should  greatly 
have  admired  you  ;  but  weak  and  feeble,  I  adore  you  I  " 

"  Poor,  poor  Emmanuel ;  what  is  left  for  us?  " 

"Leave  the  future  to  me,"  cried  the  young  man.  with 
a  radiant  look  ;  "  we  love  each  other,  and  all  is  well." 


236  The  Alkahest 


XIIL 

Several  months  went  by  in  perfect  tranquillity. 
Monsieur  de  Solis  made  Marguerite  see  that  her  petty 
economies  would  never  produce  a  fortune,  and  he  ad- 
vised her  to  live  more  at  ease,  by  taking  all  that  remained 
of  the  sum  which  Madame  Claes  had  intrusted  to  him 
for  the  comfort  and  well-being  of  the  household. 

During  these  months  Marguerite  fell  a  prey  to  the 
anxieties  which  beset  her  mother  under  like  circum- 
stances. However  incredulous  she  might  be,  she  had 
come  to  hope  in  her  father's  genius.  B}^  an  inexplicable 
phenomenon,  many  people  have  hope  where  they  have 
no  faith.  Hope  is  the  flower  of  Desire,  faith  is  the  fruit 
of  Certainty.  Marguerite  said  to  herself,  "  If  my  father 
succeeds,  we  shall  be  happy."  Claes  and  Lemulquinier 
alone  said :  "  We  shall  succeed."  Unhappily-,  from 
day  to  daj'  the  Searcher's  face  grew  sadder.  Some- 
times, when  he  came  to  dinner  he  dared  not  look  at  his 
daughter ;  at  other  times  he  glanced  at  her  in  triumph. 
Marguerite  emploj'ed  her  evenings  in  making  young  de 
Solis  explain  to  her  many  legal  points  and  difficulties. 
At  last  her  masculine  education  was  completed ;  she 


The  Alkahest.  os-r 

was  evidently  preparing  herself  to  execute  the  plan  she 
had  resolved  upon  if  her  father  were  again  vauquisheU 
in  his  duel  with  the  Unknown  (X). 

About  the  beginning  of  July,  Balthazar  spent  a  whole 
day  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  garden,  plunged  in  gloomy 
meditation.  He  ga^ed  at  the  mound  now  bare  of  tulips, 
at  the  windows  of  his  wife's  chamber ;  he  shuddered,  no 
doubt,  as  he  thought  of  all  that  his  search  had  cost  him  : 
his  movements  betrayed  that  his  thoughts  were  busy 
outside  of  Science.  Marguerite  brought  her  sewing 
and  sat  beside  him  for  a  while  before  dinner. 
"  You  have  not  succeeded,  father?" 
"  No,  my  chUd." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Marguerite,  in  a  gentle  voice.  "  I  will 
not  say  one  word  of  reproach;  we  are  both  ecjually 
guilty.  I  only  claim  the  fulfilment  of  your  promise  ;  it 
is  surely  sacred  to  you  —  you  are  a  Claes.  Your  cliikl- 
ren  will  surround  you  with  love  and  filial  respect ;  but 
you  now  belong  to  me;  50U  owe  me  obedience.  Do 
not  be  uneasy ;  my  reign  will  be  gentle,  and  I  will  en- 
deavor to  bring  it  quickly  to  an  end.  Father,  I  am 
going  to  leave  you  for  a  month ;  I  shall  be  busy  with 
your  affairs ;  for,"  she  said,  kissing  him  on  his  brow, 
"  3'ou  are  now  m}'  child.  I  take  Martha  with  me  ;  to- 
morrow Felicie  will  manage  the  household.  Tlie  poor 
child  is  only  seventeen,  and  she  will  not  know  how  to 
resist  you  ;  therefore  be  generous,  do  not  ask  her  for 


238  The  Alkahest. 

money  ;  she  has  on!}'  enough  for  the  barest  necessaries 
of  the  household.  Take  courage  :  renounce  your  labors 
and  your  thoughts  for  three  or  four  years.  The  great 
problem  may  ripen  towards  discover}' ;  b}'  that  time  I 
shall  have  gathered  the  money  that  is  necessary  to  solve 
it,  —  and  you  will  solve  it.  Tell  me,  father,  your  queen 
is  clement,  is  she  not?" 

"  Then  all  is  not  lost?"  said  the  old  man. 

*'  No,  not  if  you  keep  your  word." 

"  I  will  obey  you,  my  daughter,"  answered  Claes, 
with  deep  emotion. 

The  next  day,  Monsieur  Conyncks  of  Cambrai  came 
to  fetch  his  great-niece.  He  was  in  a  travelling-car- 
riage, and  would  only  remain  long  enough  for  Mar- 
guerite and  Martha  to  make  their  last  arrangements. 
Monsieur  Claes  received  his  cousin  with  courtesy,  but 
he  was  evidently  sad  and  humiliated.  Old  Conyncks 
guessed  his  thoughts,  and  said  with  blunt  frankness 
while  they  were  breakfasting :  — 

"I  have  some  of  your  pictures,  cousin;  I  have  a 
taste  for  pictures,  —  a  ruinous  passion,  but  we  all  have 
our  manias." 

"  Dear  uncle  !  "  exclaimed  Marguerite. 

"  The  world  declares  that  you  are  ruined,  cousin  ;  but 
the  treasure  of  a  Claes  is  there,"  said  Conyncks,  tapping 
his  forehead,  "and  here,"  striking  his  heart;  "don't 
you  think  so  ?    I  count  upon  you  :  and  for  that  reason, 


The  Alkahest.  239 

haAdng  a  few  spare  ducats  in  my  waUet,  I  put  thi-m  to 
use  in  3'our  service," 

"Ah!"  cried  Balthazar,  -I  wUl  repay  you  with 
treasures  —  " 

"The  only  treasures  we  possess  in  Flanders  are  pa- 
tience and  labor,"  replied  Conyncks,  sternly.  -Our 
ancestor  has  those  words  engraved  ui>on  his  brow."  ho 
said,  pointing  to  the  portrait  of  Van  Claijs. 

Marguerite  kissed  her  father  and  bade  him  gooil-bv. 
gave  her  last  directions  to  Josette  and  to  Felicie,  and 
started  with  Monsieur  Conyncks  for  Paris.  The  great- 
uncle  was  a  widower  with  one  child,  a  daughter  twelve 
years  old,  and  he  was  possessed  of  an  immense  fortum*. 
It  was  not  impossible  that  he  would  take  a  wife ;  c-on- 
sequently,  the  good  people  of  Douai  believed  Unit  Ma- 
demoiselle Claes  would  marry  her  great-uncle.  The 
rumor  of  this  marriage  reached  Pierquin,  and  brought 
him  back  in  hot  haste  to  the  House  of  Clacs. 

Great  changes  had  taken  place  in  the  ideas  of  that 
clever  speculator.  For  the  last  two  years  society  in 
Douai  had  been  divided  into  hostile  camps.  The  no- 
bilit}'  formed  one  circle,  the  bourgeoisie  another;  the 
latter  naturally  inimical  to  the  former.  This  sudden 
separation  took  place,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  all  over 
France,  and  divided  the  country  into  two  warring  na- 
tions, whose  jealous  squabbles,  always  augmenting,  were 
among  the  chief  reasons  why  the  revolution  of  July, 


240  The  Alkahest. 

1830,  was  accepted  in  the  provinces.  Between  these 
social  camps,  the  one  ultra-monarchical,  the  other  ultra- 
liberal,  were  a  number  of  functionaries  of  various  kinds, 
admitted,  according  to  their  importance,  to  one  or  the 
other  of  these  circles,  and  who,  at  the  moment  of  the  fall 
of  the  legitimate  power,  were  neutral.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  struggle  between  the  nobility  and  the  bourgeoisie, 
the  royalist  "  cafes"  displayed  an  unheard-of  splendor, 
and  eclipsed  the  liberal  "  cafes  "  so  brilliantly  that  these 
gastronomic  fetes  were  said  to  have  cost  the  lives  of 
some  of  their  frequenters  who,  like  ill-cast  cannon,  were 
unable  to  withstand  such  practice.  The  two  societies 
naturally  became  exclusive. 

Pierquin,  though  rich  for  a  provincial  lawyer,  was 
excluded  from  aristocratic  circles  and  driven  back  upon 
the  bourgeoisie.  His  self-love  must  have  suffered  from 
the  successive  rebuffs  which  he  received  when  he  felt 
himself  insensibly  set  aside  by  people  with  whom  he 
had  rubbed  shoulders  up  to  the  time  of  this  social 
change.  He  had  now  reached  his  fortieth  year,  the 
last  epoch  at  which  a  man  who  intends  to  marry  can 
think  of  a  3'oung  wife.  The  matches  to  which  he  was 
able  to  aspire  were  all  among  the  bourgeoisie,  but  am- 
bition prompted  him  to  enter  the  upper  circle  by  means 
of  some  creditable  alliance. 

The  isolation  in  which  the  Claes  family  were  now 
living  had  hitherto  kept  them  aloof  from  these  social 


The  Alkahest.  o-il 

changes.  Though  Claes  belonged  to  the  old  amtoc- 
racy  of  the  province,  his  preoccupaUon  of  mind  piv- 
vented  him  from  sharing  the  class  auUpalhies  thus 
created.  However  poor  a  daughter  of  the  Claes  might 
be,  she  would  bring  to  a  husband  the  dower  of  social 
vanity  so  eagerly  desired  by  all  parvenus.  Pierquiu 
therefore  returned  to  his  allegiance,  with  the  secret  in- 
tention of  making  the  necessary  sacrifices  to  conclude  a 
marriage  which  should  reaUze  all  his  ambitions.  Hi- 
kept  company  with  Balthazar  and  Ft-licie  during  Mar- 
guerite's absence  ;  but  in  so  doing  he  discovered,  rather 
late  in  the  day,  a  formidable  competitor  in  Emmanuel  de 
Solis.  The  property  of  the  deceased  abbe  was  thought 
to  be  considerable,  and  to  the  eyes  of  a  man  who  cal- 
culated all  the  affairs  of  life  in  figures,  the  young  heir 
seemed  more  powerful  through  his  money  tliau  through 
the  seductions  of  the  heart — as  to  which  Picrquin  never 
made  himself  uneasy.  In  his  mind  the  abbe's  fortune 
restored  the  de  Solis  name  to  all  its  pristine  value. 
Gold  and  nobility  of  birth  were  two  orbs  which  reflected 
lustre  on  one  another  and  doubled  the  illumination. 

The  sincere  affection  which  the  young  professor  testi- 
fied for  Felicie,  whom  he  treated  as  a  sister,  excited 
Pierquin's  spirit  of  emulation.  lie  tried  to  eclipse  Em- 
manuel b}'  mingling  a  fashionable  jargon  and  sundry 
expressions  of  supei-ficial  gallantry  with  anxious  elegies 

and  business  airs  which  sat  more  naturally  on  his  coun* 

16 


242  The  Alkahest. 

tenance.  When  he  declared  himself  disenchanted  with 
the  world  he  looked  at  Felicie,  as  if  to  let  her  know 
that  she  alone  could  reconcile  him  with  life,  Felicie, 
who  received  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  the  compliments 
of  a  man,  listened  to  this  language,  always  sweet  how^ 
ever  deceptive  ;  she  took  emptiness  for  depth,  and  need- 
ing an  object  on  which  to  fix  the  vague  emotions  of  her 
heart,  she  allowed  the  law3'er  to  occupy  her  mind.  En- 
vious perhaps,  though  quite  unconsciously,  of  the  loving 
attentions  with  which  Emmanuel  surrounded  her  sister, 
she  doubtless  wished  to  be,  like  Marguerite,  the  object 
of  the  thoughts  and  cares  of  a  man. 

Pierquin  readily  perceived  the  preference  which  Fe- 
licie accorded  him  over  Emmanuel,  and  to  him  it  was  a 
reason  why  he  should  persist  in  his  attentions  ;  so  that 
in  the  end  he  went  further  than  he  at  first  intended. 
Emmanuel  watched  the  beginning  of  this  passion,  false 
perhaps  in  the  lawyer,  artless  in  Felicie,  whose  future 
was  at  stake.  Soon,  little  colloquies  followed,  a  few 
words  said  in  a  low  voice  behind  Emmanuel's  back, 
trifling  deceptions  which  give  to  a  look  or  a  word  a 
meaning  whose  insidious  sweetness  may  be  the  cause  of 
innocent  mistakes.  Reljing  on  his  intimacy  with  Fe- 
licie, Pierquin  tried  to  discover  the  secret  of  Marguerite's 
journey,  and  to  know  if  it  were  really  a  question  of  her 
marriage,  and  whether  he  must  renounce  all  hope  ;  but, 
notwithstanding  his  clumsy  cleverness  in  questioning 


The  Alkahegf.  243 

them,  neither  Balthazar  nor  Felicie  could  give  him 
any  light,  for  the  good  reason  that  they  were  in  the 
dark  themselves:  Marguerite  in  taking  the  reios  of 
power  seemed  to  have  followed  its  maxims  and  kept 
silence  as  to  her  projects. 

The  gloomy  sadness  of  Balthazar  and  his  great  de- 
pression made  it  difficult  to  get  through  tlie  evenings. 
Though  Emmanuel  succeeded  in  making  him  play  back- 
gammon, the  chemist's  mind  was  never  present ;  during 
most  of  the  time  this  man,  so  great  in  intellect,  seemeil 
simply  stupid.  Shorn  of  his  expectations,  ashamed  of 
having  squandered  three  fortunes,  a  gambler  without 
money,  he  bent  beneath  the  weight  of  ruin,  beneath  the 
burden  of  hopes  that  were  betrayed  rather  than  annihi- 
lated. This  man  of  genius,  gagged  by  dire  necessity  and 
upbraiding  himself,  was  a  tragic  spectacle,  fit  to  toueh 
the  hearts  of  the  most  unfeeling  of  men.  Even  rierquin 
could  not  enter  without  respect  the  presence  of  tliat 
caged  lion,  whose  e3'es,  full  of  baffled  power,  now  calmed 
by  sadness  and  faded  from  excess  of  light,  sooraeil  to 
proffer  a  prater  for  charity  which  the  mouth  dared  not 
utter.  Sometimes  a  lightning  flash  crossed  that  witli- 
ered  face,  whose  fires  revived  at  the  conception  of  a 
new  experiment ;  then,  as  he  looked  about  the  parlor, 
Balthazar's  ejes  would  fasten  on  tlie  spot  where  his  wife 
had  died,  a  film  of  tears  rolled  like  hot  grains  of  sand 
across  the  arid  pupils  of  his  eyes,  which  thought  had 


244  The  Alkahest, 

made  immense,  and  his  liead  fell  forward  on  his  breast 
Like  a  Titan  he  had  lifted  the  world,  and  the  world  fel\ 
on  his  breast  and  crushed  him. 

This  gigantic  grief,  so  manfully  controlled,  affected 
Pierquin  and  Emmanuel  powerfully,  and  each  felt  moved 
at  times  to  offer  this  man  the  necessary  money  to  renew 
his  search, — so  contagious  are  the  convictions  of  genius  ! 
Both  understood  how  it  was  that  Madame  Claes  and 
Marguerite  had  flung  their  all  into  the  gulf ;  but  reason 
promptly  checked  this  impulse  of  their  hearts,  and  their 
emotion  was  spent  in  efforts  at  consolation  which  still 
further  embittered  the  anguish  of  the  doomed  Titan. 

Claes  never  spoke  of  his  eldest  daughter,  and  showed 
no  interest  in  her  departure  nor  any  anxiety  as  to  her 
silence  in  not  writing  either  to  him  or  to  Felicie.  When 
de  Soils  or  Pierquin  asked  for  news  of  her  he  seemed 
annoyed.  Did  he  suspect  that  Marguerite  was  working 
against  him?  Was  he  humiliated  at  having  resigned 
the  majestic  rights  of  paternity  to  his  own  child  ?  Had 
he  come  to  love  her  less  because  she  was  now  the  father, 
he  the  child?  Perhaps  there  were  many  of  these  rea- 
sons, many  of  these  inexpressible  feelings  which  float 
like  vapors  through  the  soul,  in  the  mute  disgrace  which 
he  laid  upon  Marguerite.  However  great  may  be  the 
great  men  of  the  earth,  be  they  known  or  unknown, 
fortunate  or  unfortunate  in  their  endeavors,  all  have 
littlenesses  which  belong  to   human    nature.      By  a 


The  Alkahest.  245 

double  misfortune  they  suffer  through  their  greatness 
not  less  than  through  their  defects ;  and  perhaps  Bal- 
thazar needed   to   grow   accustoaaed   to   the  pane's  of 
wounded  vanity.     The  life  he  was  leading,  the  evenings 
when  these  four  persons  met  together  in  ^largueritt-'s 
absence,  were  full  of  sadness  and  vague,  uneasv  appre- 
hensions.    The  days  were  barren  like  a  i)arched-up  soil ; 
where,  nevertheless  a  few  flowers  grew,  a  few  rare  con- 
solations, though  without  Marguerite,  the  soul,  the  hope, 
the  strength  of  the  family,  the  atmosphere  seemed  niistv. 
Two  months  went  by  in  this  way,  during  which  Bal- 
thazar awaited  the  return  of  his  daughter.     Marguerite 
was  brought  back  to  Douai  by  her  uncle  who  remaim-d 
at  the  house  instead  of  returning  to  Cambrai,  no  doubt 
to  lend  the  weight  of  his  authoritj-  to  some  coup  iV  itat 
planned  by  his  niece.     Marguerite's  return  was  made  a 
family  fete.     Pierquin  and  Monsieur  de  Solis  were  in- 
vited to  dinner  by  FeUcie  and  Balthazar.     When  the 
travelling-carriage  stopped  before  the  house,  the  four 
went  to  meet  it  with  demonstrations  of  joy.     ISIargue- 
rite  seemed  happy  to  see  her  home  once  more,  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  crossed  the  court-yard  to 
reach  the  parlor.     When  embracing  her  father  she  col- 
ored like  a  guilty  wife  who  is  unable  to  dissimulate  ; 
but   her  face  recovered  its  serenity  as  she  looked  at 
Emmanuel,  from  whom  she  seemed  to  gather  strength 
to  complete  a  work  she  had  secretly  undertaken. 


246  The  Alkahest. 

Notwithstandii-g  the  gayet}^  which  animated  all  pres- 
ent during  the  dinner,  father  and  daughter  watched  each 
other  with  distrust  and  curiosity.  Balthazar  asked  his 
daughter  no  questions  as  to  her  stay  in  Paris,  doubt- 
less to  preserve  his  parental  dignit}'.  Emmanuel  de 
Solis  imitated  his  reserve ;  but  Pierquin,  accustomed 
to  be  told  all  family  secrets,  said  to  Marguerite,  con- 
cealing his  curiosit}^  under  a  show  of  liveliness  :  — 

"  "Well,  my  dear  cousin,  you  have  seen  Paris  and  the 
theatres  —  " 

"  I  have  seen  little  of  Paris,"  she  said ;  "  I  did  not 
go  there  for  amusement.  The  days  went  by  sadly,  I 
was  so  impatient  to  see  Douai  once  more." 

"Yes,  if  I  had  not  been  angry  about  it  she  would 
not  have  gone  to  the  Opera ;  and  even  there  she  was 
uneas}',"  said  Monsieur  Con^-ncks. 

It  was  a  painful  evening ;  every  one  was  embarrassed 
and  smiled  vaguel}'  with  the  artificial  gaj-ety  which  hides 
such  real  anxieties.  Marguerite  and  Balthazar  were  a 
prey  to  cruel,  latent  fears  which  reacted  on  the  rest. 
As  the  hours  passed,  the  bearing  of  the  father  and 
daughter  grew  more  and  more  constrained.  Sometimes 
Marguerite  tried  to  smile,  but  her  motions,  her  looks,  the 
tones  of  her  voice  betra^'ed  a  keen  anxiet3^  Messieurs 
Conyncks  and  de  Solis  seemed  to  know  the  meaning 
of  the  secret  feelings  which  agitated  the  noble  girl,  and 
they  appeared  to  encourage  her  bj-  expressive  glances. 


The  Alkahest.  247 

Balthazar,  hurt  at  being  kept  from  a  knowledge  of  the 
steps  that  had  been  taken  on  his  behalf,  withdrew  Utile 
by  little  from  his  chUdren  and  friends,  and  iwint^Kllv 
kept  silence.  Marguerite  would  no  doubt  soon  disclose 
what  she  had  decided  upon  for  his  future. 

To  a  great  man,  to  a  father,  the  situation  was  intoler- 
able. At  his  age  a  man  no  longer  dissimuhitos  in 
his  own  family  ;  he  became  more  and  more  thoutrhtful. 
serious,  and  grieved  as  the  hour  approached  wht-n  he 
would  be  forced  to  meet  his  civil  death.  This  evening 
covered  one  of  those  crises  in  the  inner  life  of  man 
which  can  onl}'  be  expressed  by  imagery.  The  thunder- 
clouds were  gathering  in  the  sk}-,  people  were  laughing 
in  the  fields  ;  all  felt  the  heat  and  knew  the  storm  was 
coming,  but  they  held  up  their  heads  and  continued 
on  their  waj".  Monsieur  Conyncks  was  the  first  to 
leave  the  room,  conducted  by  Balthazar  to  his  cham- 
ber. During  the  latter's  absence  Pienjuin  and  Mon- 
sieur de  Solis  went  away.  Marguerite  bade  the  notary 
good-night  with  much  affection  ;  she  said  nothing  to 
Emmanuel,  but  she  pressed  his  hand  and  gave  him  a 
tearful  glance.  She  sent  Felicie  away,  and  when  C'laes 
returned  to  the  parlor  he  found  his  daughter  alone. 

"  My  kind  father,"  she  said  in  a  trembling  voice, 
"  nothing:  could  have  made  me  leave  home  l)ut  the 
serious  position  in  which  we  found  ourselves ;  but  now. 
after  much   anxiety,    after   surmounting   the    greatest 


248  The  Alkahest, 

diflJculties,  I  return  with  some  chances  of  deliverance 
for  all  of  us.  Thanks  to  your  name,  and  to  my  uncle's 
influence,  and  to  the  support  of  Monsieur  de  Solis,  we 
have  obtained  for  you  an  appointment  under  govern- 
ment as  receiver  of  customs  in  Bretagne  ;  the  place  is 
worth,  they  say,  eighteen  to  twenty  thousand  francs  a 
year.  Our  uncle  has  given  bonds  as  yom-  security. 
Here  is  the  nomination,''  she  added,  drawing  a  paper 
from  her  bag.  "Your  life  in  Douai,  in  this  house, 
during  the  coming  years  of  privation  and  sacrifice  would 
be  intolerable  to  you.  Our  father  must  be  placed  in  a 
situation  at  least  equal  to  that  in  which  he  has  always 
lived.  I  ask  nothing  from  the  salary  you  will  receive 
from  this  appointment ;  emploj''  it  as  you  see  fit.  I  will 
only  beg  you  to  remember  that  we  have  not  a  penny  of 
income,  and  that  we  must  live  on  what  Gabriel  can  give 
us  out  of  his.  The  town  shaU  know  nothing  of  our 
inner  life.  If  you  were  still  to  live  in  this  house  you 
would  be  an  obstacle  to  the  means  my  sister  and  I  are 
about  to  employ  to  restore  comfort  and  ease  to  the 
home.  Have  I  abused  the  authority  you  gave  me  by 
putting  you  in  a  position  to  remake  your  own  fortune  ? 
In  a  few  years,  if  you  so  wiU,  you  can  easily  become 
the  receiver-general." 

"  In  other  words,  Marguerite,"  said  Balthazar,  gently, 
*'  you  turn  me  out  of  my  own  house." 

*'I  do  not  deserve  that  bitter  reproach,"  replied  the 


The  Alkahest.  249 

daughter,  quelling  the  tumultuous  beatings  of  her  heart. 
"  You  will  come  back  to  us  when  you  are  able  to  live 
in  your  native  town  in  a  manner  becoming  to  vour 
tlignity.  Besides,  father,  I  have  your  promise.  You 
are  bound  to  obey  me.  My  uncle  has  stayed  here  that 
he  might  himself  accompany  you  to  Bretagne,  and  not 
leave  you  to  make  the  journey  alone." 

"  I  shall  not  go,"  said  Balthazar,  rising ;  "  I  need  no 
help  from  any  one  to  restore  my  property  and  pay  what 
I  owe  to  my  children." 

"  It  would  be  better,  certainly,"  rephcd  IMargueritc, 
calmly.  "  But  now  I  ask  you  to  reflect  on  our  resj)oc- 
tive  situations,  which  I  will  explain  in  a  few  words.  If 
you  stay  in  this  house  your  children  will  leave  it,  so  that 
you  maj-  remain  its  master." 

"  Marguerite  !  "  cried  Balthazar. 

"  In  that  case,"  she  said,  continuing  her  wonls  with- 
out taking  notice  of  her  father's  anger,  "  it  will  Ihj 
necessary  to  notif}'  the  minister  of  your  refusal,  if  you 
decide  not  to  accept  this  honorable  and  lucrative  post, 
which,  in  spite  of  our  many  efforts,  we  should  never 
have  obtained  but  for  certain  thousand-franc  notes  my 
uncle  shpped  into  the  glove  of  a  lady." 

"  My  children  leave  me  ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  You  must  leave  us  or  we  must  leave  you,"  she 
said.  "If  I  were  your  only  child,  I  should  do  as  my 
mother  did,  without  murmuring  against  my  fate' ;  but 


250  The  Alkahest. 

my  brothers  and  my  sister  shall  not  perish  beside  you 
with  hunger  and  despair.  I  promised  it  to  her  who 
died  there,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  place  where  her 
mother's  bed  had  stood.  "  We  have  hidden  our  troubles 
from  you ;  we  have  suffered  in  silence ;  our  strength 
is  gone.  My  father,  we  are  not  on  the  edge  of  an 
abyss,  we  are  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Courage  is  not  suf- 
ficient to  di-ag  us  out  of  it ;  our  efforts  must  not  be 
incessantl}'  brought  to  nought  by  the  caprices  of  a 
passion." 

"My  dear  children,"  cried  Balthazar,  seizing  Mar- 
guerite's hand,  "  I  will  help  you,  I  will  work,  I  —  " 

"  Here  is  the  means,"  she  answered,  showing  him 
the  official  letter. 

"  But,  my  darling,  the  means  you  offer  me  are  too 
slow ;  3'ou  make  me  lose  the  fruits  of  ten  years'  work, 
and  the  enormous  sums  of  money  which  my  laborator}' 
represents.  There,"  he  said,  pointing  towards  the  gar- 
ret, "  are  our  real  resources." 

Marguerite  walked  towards  the  door,  saying,  — 

"  Father,  you  must  choose." 

"Ah!  my  daughter,  jou  are  very  hard,"  he  replied, 
sitting  down  in  an  armchair  and  allowing  her  to  leave 
him. 

The  next  morning,  on  coming  downstairs,  Marguerite 
learned  from  Lemulquinier  that  Monsieur  Claes  had 
gone  out.     This  simple  announcement  turned  her  pale  : 


The  Alk'ihftt.  251 

her  face  was  so  painfully  significant  that  the  oM  vaiel 
remarked  hastily  :  — 

"Don't  be  troubled,  mademoiselle;  monsieur  said 
he  would  be  back  at  eleven  o'clock  to  breiikfii>t.  Ho 
did  n't  go  to  bed  all  night.  At  two  in  the  morning  he 
was  still  standing  in  the  parlor,  looking  through  the 
window  at  the  laboratory.  I  w:is  waiting  up  in  the 
kitchen  ;  I  saw  him  ;  he  wept ;  he  is  in  trouble.  Here 's 
the  famous  month  of  July  when  the  sun  is  able  to  en- 
rich us  all,  and  if  you  only  would  —  " 

"  Enough,"  said  Marguerite,  divining  tlie  thoughts 
that  must  have  assailed  her  father's  mind. 

A  phenomenon  which  often  takes  possession  of  |)or- 
SODS  leading  sedentary  lives  had  seized  upon  Balthazar  ; 
his  life  depended,  so  to  speak,  on  the  places  with  which 
it  was  identified  ;  his  thought  was  so  wedded  to  his 
laboratory  and  to  the  house  he  lived  in  that  both  were 
indispensable  to  him, — just  as  the  Bourse  becomes  a 
necessity  to  a  stock-gambler,  to  whom  the  public  holi- 
days are  so  much  lost  time.  Here  were  his  bo|)e8 ; 
here  the  heavens  contained  the  only  atmosphere  in 
which  his  lungs  could  breathe  the  breath  of  life.  This 
alliance  of  places  and  things  with  men,  which  is  so 
powerful  in  feeble  natures,  becomes  almost  tyrannical 
in  men  of  science  and  students.  To  leave  his  house 
was,  for  Balthazar,  to  renounce  Science,  to  abandon  the 
Problem,  — it  was  death. 


252  The  Alkahest. 

Marguerite  was  a  prey  to  anxiety  until  the  breakfast 
hour.  The  former  scene  in  which  Balthazar  had  meant 
to  kill  himself  came  back  to  her  memory,  and  she 
feared  some  tragic  end  to  the  desperate  situation  in 
which  her  father  was  placed.  She  came  and  went  rest- 
lessly about  the  parlor,  and  quivered  every  time  the 
bell  or  the  street-door  sounded. 

At  last  Balthazar  returned.  As  he  crossed  the  court- 
yard Marguerite  studied  his  face  anxiously  and  could  see 
nothing  but  an  expression  of  stormy  grief.  "When  he 
entered  the  parlor  she  went  towards  him  to  bid  him 
good-morning ;  he  caught  her  affectionately  round  the 
waist,  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  kissed  her  brow,  and 
whispered,  — 

"  I  have  been  to  get  m}'  passport." 

The  tones  of  his  voice,  his  resigned  look,  his  feeble 
movements,  crushed  the  poor  girl's  heart ;  she  turned 
away  her  head  to  conceal  her  tears,  and  then,  unable 
to  repress  them,  she  went  into  the  garden  to  weep  at 
her  ease.  During  breakfast,  Balthazar  showed  the 
cheerfulness  of  a  man  who  had  come  to  a  decision. 

"So  we  are  to  start  for  Bretagne,  uncle,"  he  said 
to  Monsieur  Conyncks.  "I  have  always  wished  to  go 
there." 

"  It  is  a  place  where  one  can  live  cheaply,"  replied 
the  old  man. 

"  Is  our  father  going  away  ?  "  cried  F^licie. 


The  Alkahest.  25S 

Monsieur  de  Solis  entered,  bringing  Jean. 

"■  You  must  leave  him  with  me  to-day,"  said  Baltha- 
zar, putting  his  son  beside  him.  '*  I  am  going  away 
to-morrow,  and  I  want  to  bid  him  good-by." 

Emmanuel  glanced  at  Marguerite,  who  held  down  her 
head.  It  was  a  gloomy  day  for  the  family  ;  every  one 
was  sad,  and  tried  to  repress  both  thoughts  and  tears. 
This  was  not  an  absence,  it  was  an  exile.  All  in- 
stinctively felt  the  humiliation  of  the  father  in  thus  pub- 
licly declaring  his  ruin  by  accepting  an  ofllce  and 
leaving  his  family,  at  Balthazar's  age.  At  this  crisis  he 
was  great,  while  Marguerite  was  firm ;  he  seemed  to 
accept  nobly  the  punishment  of  faults  which  the  tyran- 
nous power  of  genius  had  forced  him  to  commit.  When 
the  evening  was  over,  and  father  and  daughter  were 
again  alone,  Balthazar,  who  throughout  the  day  had 
shown  himself  tender  and  affectionate  as  in  the  first 
years  of  his  fatherhood,  held  out  his  hand  and  said  to 
Marguerite  with  a  tenderness  that  was  mingled  with 
despair,  — 

"  Are  you  satisfied  with  your  father?  " 

"  You  are  worthy  of  him,"  said  Marguerite,  pointing 
to  the  portrait  of  Van  Claes. 

The  next  morning  Balthazar,  followed  by  Lemul- 
quinier,  went  up  to  the  laboratory,  as  if  to  bid  farewell 
to  the  hopes  he  had  so  fondly  cherished,  and  which 
in  that  scene  of  his  toil  were   Uving  things   to  him. 


254  The  Alkahest. 

Master  and  man  looked  at  each  other  sadly  as  they 
entered  the  garret  they  were  about  to  leave,  perhaps 
forever.  Balthazar  gazed  at  the  various  instruments 
over  which  his  thoughts  so  long  had  brooded  ;  each  was 
connected  with  some  experiment  or  some  research. 
He  sadly  ordered  Lemulquinier  to  evaporate  the  gases 
and  the  dangerous  acids,  and  to  separate  all  substances 
which  might  produce  explosions.  While  taking  these 
precautions,  he  gave  way  to  bitter  regrets,  like  those 
uttered  by  a  condemned  man  before  going  to  the 
scaffold. 

"Here,"  he  said,  stopping  before  a  china  capsule 
in  which  two  wires  of  a  voltaic  pile  were  dipped,  "  is 
an  experiment  whose  results  ought  to  be  watched.  If 
it  succeeds  —  dreadful  thought !  —  my  children  will 
have  driven  from  their  home  a  father  who  could  fling 
diamonds  at  their  feet.  In  a  combination  of  carbon 
and  sulphur,"  he  went  on,  speaking  to  himself,  "  car- 
bon plays  the  part  of  an  electro-positive  substance ; 
the  crystallization  ought  to  begin  at  the  negative  pole  ; 
and  in  case  of  decomposition,  the  carbon  would  crop 
into  crystals  —  " 

"  Ah  !  is  that  how  it  would  be?  "  said  Lemulquinier, 
contemplating  his  master  with  admiration. 

"Now  here,"  continued  Balthazar,  after  a  pause, 
"the  combination  is  subject  to  the  influence  of  the 
galvanic  battery  which  may  act — " 


TJie  Alkahest.  055 

"If  monsieur  wishes,  I  can  increase  its  force" 

"No,  no;  leave  it  as  it  is.  Perfect  slillueaii  and 
time  are  the  conditions  of  crystallization  — " 

"  Confound  it,  it  takes  time  enough,  that  crvsLalU- 
zation,"  cried  the  old  valet  impatiently. 

"  Kthe  temperature  goes  down,  the  sulphide  of  car- 
bon will  crystallize,"  said  Balthazar,  continuing  to  give 
forth  shreds  of  indistinct  thoughts  which  wen-  parts  of 
a  complete  conception  in  his  own  mind;  '•  Nut  if  the 
battery  works  under  certain  conditions  of  which  I  nm 
ignorant  —  it  must  be  watched  carefully  —  it  is  quito 
possible  that —  Ah!  what  am  I  thinking  of?  It  in 
no  longer  a  question  of  chemistry,  m\-  friend  ;  we  arc 
to  keep  accounts  in  Bretagne." 

Claes  rushed  precipitately  from  the  lalx)ratory.  and 
went  downstairs  to  take  a  last  breakfast  witli  his 
family,  at  which  Pierquin  and  Monsieur  de  Solis  were 
present.  Balthazar,  hastening  to  end  the  agony  Science 
had  imposed  upon  him,  bade  his  children  fan-wt-ll  and 
got  into  the  carriage  with  his  uncle,  all  the  family  ac- 
companying him  to  the  threshold.  There,  as  Margue- 
rite strained  her  father  to  her  breast  with  a  despairing 
pressure,  he  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  You  arc  u  gfxxl 
girl ;  I  bear  you  no  ill-will ; "  then  she  dart^'d  through 
the  court-yard  into  the  parlor,  and  fliiiig  hfrself  on  her 
knees  upon  the  spot  where  her  mother  had  diiti.  and 
prayed  to  God  to  give  her  strength  to  accomplinh  tlie 


256  The  Alkahest. 

hard  task  that  lay  before  her.  She  was  already 
strengthened  by  an  inward  voice,  sounding  in  her 
heart  the  encouragement  of  angels  and  the  gratitude 
of  her  mother,  when  her  sister,  her  brother,  Emmanuel, 
and  Pierquin  came  in,  after  watching  the  carriage  until 
vt  disappeared. 


Tlie  Alkahest.  2^7 


XIV. 

"And  now,  mademoiselle,  what  do  you  intend  to 
do ! "  said  Pierquin. 

"  Save  the  family,"  she  answered  simply.  "  Wo 
own  nearly  thirteen  hundred  acres  at  Waiguics.  I  in- 
tend to  clear  them,  divide  them  into  three  farms,  put  up 
the  necessary  buildings,  and  then  let  them.  I  believe 
that  in  a  few  years,  with  patience  and  great  economy, 
each  of  us,"  motioning  to  her  sister  and  brother,  "  will 
have  a  farm  of  over  four  hundred  acres,  which  may  bring 
in,  some  day,  a  rental  of  nearly  fifteen  thousand  franca. 
My  brother  Gabriel  will  have  this  house,  and  all  that 
now  stands  in  his  name  on  the  Grand-Livre,  for  his 
portion.  We  shall  then  be  able  to  redeem  our  father's 
property  and  return  it  to  him  free  from  all  encumbrance, 
by  devoting  our  incomes,  each  of  us,  to  paying  otf  his 
debts." 

"But,  m3'  dear  cousin,"  said  the  lawyer,  amazed  ni 
Marguerite's  understanding  of  business  and  her  cool 
judgment,  "30U  will  need  at  least  two  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  to  clear  the  land,  build  your  houses,  and 

purchase  cattle.     Where  will  you  get  such  a  sura?  " 

17 


258  The  Alkahest. 

"  That  is  where  m}'  difl3culties  begin,"  she  said,  look- 
ing alternately  at  Pierquin  and  de  Solis  ;  "  I  cannot  ask 
it  from  nay  uncle,  who  has  already  spent  much  money 
for  us  and  has  given  bonds  as  my  father's  security." 

"  You  have  friends  !  "  cried  Pierquin,  suddenly  per- 
ceivina:  that  the  demoiselles  Claes  were  "  four-hundred- 
thousand-franc  girls,"  after  all. 

Emmanuel  de  Solis  looked  tenderly  at  Marguerite. 
Pierquin,  unfortunately  for  himself,  was  a  notary-  still, 
even  in  the  midst  of  his  enthusiasm,  and  he  promptly 
added, — 

"  I  will  lend  you  these  two  hundred  thousand  francs." 

Marguerite  and  Emmanuel  consulted  each  other  with 
a  glance  which  was  a  flash  of  light  to  Pierquin ;  Felicia 
colored  highly,  much  gratified  to  find  her  cousin  as 
o-enerous  as  she  desired  him  to  be.  She  looked  at  her 
sister,  who  suddenly'  guessed  the  fact  that  during  her 
absence  the  poor  girl  had  allowed  herself  to  be  caught 
by  Pierquin's  meaningless  gallantries. 

"You  shall  onl}'  pa}'  me  five  per  cent  interest,"  went 
on  the  lawyer,  "  and  refund  the  money  whenever  it  is 
convenient  to  do  so ;  I  will  take  a  mortgage  on  your 
property.  And  don't  be  uneasy ;  3'ou  shall  onl}'  have 
the  outlay  on  j'our  improvements  to  pay ;  I  will  find 
you  trustworthy  farmers,  and  do  all  your  business 
gratuitously,  so  as  to  help  you  like  a  good  relation." 

Emmanuel  made   Marguerite  a  sign   to   refuse   the 


The  Alkaheift.  2o9 

offer,  but  she  was  too  much  occupied  in  studying  the 
changes  of  her  sister's  face  to  i)erceive  it.  Aft.  r  a 
slight  pause,  she  looked  at  the  notary  with  au  amused 
smQe,  and  answered  of  her  own  accord,  to  tlie  great  joy 
of  Monsieur  de  Solis  :  — 

"  You  are  indeed  a  good  relation,  —  I  exj)ectetl  noUi- 
ing  less  of  you  ;  but  an  interest  of  five  jxr  cent  wouKl 
delay  our  release  too  long.  I  shall  wait  till  my  broUier 
is  of  age,  and  then  we  will  sell  out  what  he  has  in  the 
Funds." 

Pierquin  bit  his  lip.     Emmanuel  smiled  quietly. 

"  Felicie,  my  dear  child,  take  Jean  back  to  school; 
Martha  will  go  with  you,"  said  Marguerite. to  ber  sister. 
"Jean,  my  angel,  be  a  good  boy;  don't  tear  your 
clothes,  for  we  shall  not  be  rich  enough  to  buy  you  as 
many  new  ones  as  we  did.  Good-by,  little  one ;  study 
hard." 

F(51icie  carried  off  her  brother. 

"  Cousin,"  said  Marguerite  to  Pierquin,  "  and  you. 
monsieur,"  she  said  to  Monsieur  de  Solis,  "  I  know  you 
have  been  to  see  m}'  father  during  my  absence,  and  I 
thank  you  for  that  proof  of  friendship.  You  will  not 
do  less  I  am  sure  for  two  poor  girls  who  will  bo  in  n»>e<l 
of  counsel.  Let  us  understand  each  other.  When  1 
am  at  home  I  shall  receive  you  both  with  the  greatest 
pleasure,  but  when  Felicie  is  here  alone  with  Josi-tte 
and  Martha,  I  need  not  tell  you  that  she  ought  to  sec 


260  The  Alkahest. 

no  one,  not  even  an  old  friend  or  the  most  devoted  of 
relatives.  Under  the  circumstances  in  which  we  are 
placed,  our  conduct  must  be  irreproachable.  We  are 
vowed  to  toil  and  solitude  for  a  long,  long  time." 

There  was  silence  for  some  minutes.  Emmanuel, 
absorbed  in  contemplation  of  Marguerite's  head,  seemed 
dumb.  Pierquin  did  not  know  what  to  say.  He  took 
leave  of  his  cousin  with  feelings  of  rage  against  himself ; 
for  he  suddenly  perceived  that  Marguerite  loved  Em- 
manuel, and  that  he,  Pierquin,  had  just  behaved  like  a 
fool. 

"Pierquin,  my  friend,"  he  said,  apostrophizing  him- 
self in  the  street,  "  if  a  man  said  you  were  an  idiot  he 
would  tell  the  truth.  What  a  fool  I  am !  I  've  got 
twelve  thousand  francs  a  j'ear  outside  of  m}"  business, 
without  counting  what  I  am  to  inherit  from  my  uncle 
des  Racquets,  which  is  likely  to  double  my  fortune 
(not  that  I  wish  him  dead,  he  is  so  economical),  and 
I  've  had  the  madness  to  ask  interest  from  Mademoi- 
selle Claes  !  I  know  those  two  are  jeering  at  me  now  ! 
I  must  n't  think  of  Marguerite  any  more.  No.  After 
all,  Felicie  is  a  sweet,  gentle  little  creature,  who  will  suit 
me  much  better.  Marguerite's  character  is  iron ;  she 
would  want  to  rule  me  —  and  —  she  would  rule  me. 
Come,  come,  let 's  be  generous ;  I  wish  I  was  not  so 
much  of  a  lawyer :  am  I  never  to  get  that  harness  off 
my  back  ?     Bless  my  soul !     I  '11  begin  to  fall  in  love 


The  Alkaheit.  281 

with  Felicie,  and  I  won't  budge  from  that  sentimenL 
She  will  have  a  farm  of  four  hundred  and  thirty  acrt?a, 
which,  sooner  or  later,  will  be  worth  twelve  or  fifWn 
thousand  francs  a  year,  for  the  soil  about  Waignies  Ib 
excellent.  Just  let  my  old  uncle  des  Racquet?  die, 
poor  dear  man,  and  I  '11  sell  my  practice  and  be  a  man 
of  leisure,  with  fifty  —  thou  —  sand' —  francs  —  a  —  year. 
My  wife  is  a  Claes,  I  'm  alUed  to  the  great  famihcH. 
The  deuce  !  we  '11  see  if  those  Courtcvilles  and  Magal- 
hens  and  Savaron  de  Savarus  will  refuse  to  come  and 
dine  with  a  Pierquin-Claes-Molina-Nourho.  I  shall  bo 
mayor  of  Douai ;  I  '11  obtain  the  cross,  and  get  to  bo 
deputy —in  short,  everything.  Ha,  ha!  Pierquin,  my 
boy,  now  keep  yourself  in  hand ;  no  more  nonsense, 
because  —  j-es,  on  my  word  of  honor  —  Felicie  —  Ma- 
demoiselle Felicie  Van  Claiis  —  loves  you  !  " 

When  the  lovers  were  left  alone  Emmanuel  held  out 
his  hand  to  Marguerite,  who  did  not  refuse  to  put 
her  right  hand  into  it.  They  rose  with  one  impulse 
and  moved  towards  their  bench  in  the  garden ;  but  aa 
they  reached  the  middle  of  the  parlor,  the  lover  could 
not  resist  his  joy,  and,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  witli 
emotion,  he  said, — 

"  I  have  three  hundred  thousand  francs  of  yours." 
"What!"   she   cried,    "did   my   poor   mother  in- 
trust them  to  you?    No?    then   where   did    you   get 
them." 


262  The  Alkahest. 

"  Oh,  my  Marguerite  !  all  that  is  mine  is  yours.  "Was 
it  not  you  who  first  said  the  word  '  ourselves '  ?  " 

"Dear  Emmanuel!"  she  exclaimed,  pressing  the 
hand  which  still  held  hers ;  and  then,  instead  of  going 
into  the  garden,  she  threw  herself  into  a  low  chair. 

"  It  is  for  me  to  thank  you,"  he  said,  with  the  voice 
of  love,  "  since  you  accept  all." 

"  Oh,  m}'  dear  beloved  one,"  she  cried,  "  this  mo- 
ment effaces  many  a  grief  and  brings  the  happy  future 
nearer.  Yes,  I  accept  your  fortune,"  she  continued, 
with  the  smile  of  an  angel  upon  her  lips,  "I  know  the 
way  to  make  it  mine." 

She  looked  up  at  the  picture  of  Van  Claes  as  if  call- 
ing him  to  witness.  The  young  man's  eyes  followed 
those  of  Marguerite,  and  he  did  not  notice  that  she  took 
a  ring  from  her  finger  until  he  heard  the  words  :  — 

"  From  the  depths  of  our  greatest  misery  one  com- 
fort rises.  My  father's  indifference  leaves  me  the  free 
disposal  of  myself,"  she  said,  holding  out  the  ring. 
"Take  it,  Emmanuel.  My  mother  valued  you  —  she 
would  have  chosen  you." 

The  young  man  turned  pale  with  emotion  and  fell  on 
his  knees  beside  her,  offering  in  return  a  ring  which  he 
always  wore. 

"  This  is  my  mother's  wedding-ring,"  he  said,  kissing 
it.  "  My  Marguerite,  am  I  to  have  no  other  pledge 
than  this?" 


The  Alkahest.  268 

She  stooped  a  little  tUl  her  forehead  met  his  Hps. 

"Alas,  dear  love,"  she  said,  greatly  agitated,  "aro 
we  not  doing  wrong  ?    We  have  so  long  to  wait  1 " 

"My  uncle  used  to  say  that  adoration  was  the  daily 
bread  of  patience,  —  he  spoke  of  Christians  who  lovo 
God.  That  is  how  I  love  you  ;  I  have  long  mingletl  uiv 
love  for  you  with  my  love  for  Iliui.  I  am  your«  a**  I 
am  His." 

They  remained  for  a  few  moments  in  the  {kjwct  of 
this  sweet  enthusiasm.  It  was  the  calm,  sincere  effu- 
sion of  a  feeling  which,  like  an  overflowing  spring, 
poured  forth  its  superabundance  in  little  wavelets. 
The  events  which  separated  tliese  lovers  prodncetl  a 
melancholy  which  only  made  their  happiness  the  keener, 
giving  it  a  sense  of  something  sharp,  like  pain. 

Felicie  came  back  too  soon.  Emmanuel,  inspia-d  by 
that  delightful  tact  of  love  which  discerns  all  feelings, 
left  the  sisters  alone,  —  exchanging  a  look  with  Mar- 
guerite to  let  her  know  how  much  this  discretion  cost 
him,  how  hungry  his  soul  was  for  that  happiness  so 
long  desired,  which  had  just  been  consecrated  by  the 
betrothal  of  their  hearts. 

"Come  here,  little  sister,"  said  Marguerite,  talking 
Felicie  round  the  neck.  Then,  passing  into  the  garden 
they  sat  down  on  the  bench  where  generation  after  gen- 
eration had  confided  to  listening  hearts  their  wonls  of 
love,  their  sighs  of  grief,  their  meditations  and  their 


264  The  Alkahest. 

projects.  In  spite  of  her  sister's  joyous  tone  and  lively 
manner,  Felicie  experienced  a  sensation  that  was  very 
like  fear.    Marguerite  took  her  hand  and  felt  it  tremble. 

"  Mademoiselle  FeUcie,"  said  the  elder,  with  her  lips 
at  her  sister's  ear.  "I  read  j-our  soul.  Pierquin  has 
been  here  often  in  m}'  absence,  and  he  has  said  sweet 
words  to  you,  and  you  have  listened  to  them."  Felicie 
blushed.  "  Don't  defend  yourself,  my  angel,"  continued 
Marguerite,  "it  is  so  natural  to  love!  Perhaps  your 
dear  nature  will  improve  his  ;  he  is  egotistical  and  self- 
interested,  but  for  all  that  he  is  a  good  man,  and  his 
defects  may  even  add  to  your  happiness.  He  will  love 
you  as  the  best  of  his  possessions ;  you  will  be  a  part 
of  his  business  affairs.  Forgive  me  this  one  word, 
dear  love ;  yon  will  soon  correct  the  bad  habit  he  has 
acquired  of  seeing  money  in  everything,  by  teaching 
him  the  business  of  the  heart." 

Felicie  could  only  kiss  her  sister. 

"Besides,"  added  Marguerite,  "he  has  property; 
and  his  family  belongs  to  the  highest  and  the  oldest 
bourgeoisie.  But  you  don't  think  I  would  oppose  your 
happiness  even  if  the  conditions  were  less  prosperous, 
do  you?" 

Felicie  let  fall  the  words,  "  Dear  sister." 

"Yes,  you  may  confide  in  me,"  cried  Marguerite, 
*'  sisters  can  surely  tell  each  other  their  secrets." 

These  words,  so  full  of  heartiness,  opened  the  way 


The  Alkahest.  265 

to  one  of  those  delightful  conversations  in  which  young 
girls  tell  all.  When  Marguerite,  expert  in  love,  reached 
an  understanding  of  the  real  state  of  Felicie's  heart, 
she  wound  up  their  talk  by  saying :  — 

''Well,  dear  child,  let  us  make  sure  he  truly  lovM 
you,  and  —  then  —  " 

"Ah!"  cried  Felicie,  laughing,  ''leave  me  to  my 
own  devices  ;  I  have  a  model  before  my  eyes." 

"  Saucy  child  !  "  exclaimed  Marguerite,  kissing  her. 

Though  Pierquin  belonged  to  the  class  of  men  who 
regard  marriage  as  the  accomplishment  of  a  social  duty 
and  the  means  of  transmitting  property,  and  tliough  he 
was  indifferent  to  which  sister  he  should  marry  so  lonjf 
as  both  had  the  same  name  and  the  same  dower,  he  did 
perceive  that  the  two  were,  to  use  his  own  expression, 
"  romantic  and  sentimental  girls,"  adjectives  employed 
b}-  commonplace  people  to  ridicule  the  gifts  which 
Nature  sows  with  grudging  hand  along  the  furrows  of 
humanity.  The  lawyer  no  doubt  said  to  himself  that 
he  had  better  swim  with  the  stream  ;  and  accordingly 
the  next  day  he  came  to  see  ^larguerite,  and  took  her 
mysteriously  into  the  little  garden,  wliere  he  began  to 
talk  sentiment,  —  that  being  one  of  the  clauses  of  the 
primal  contract  which,  according  to  social  usage,  must 
precede  the  notarial  contract. 

"  Dear  cousin,"  he  said,  "  you  and  I  have  not  always 
been  of  one  mind  as  to  the  best  means  of  bringing  your 


266  The  Alkahest. 

affairs  to  a  happ}'  conclusion ;  but  you  do  now,  I  am 
sure,  admit  that  I  have  always  been  guided  by  a  great 
desire  to  be  useful  to  you.  Well,  yesterday  I  spoiled 
my  offer  by  a  fatal  habit  which  the  legal  profession 
forces  upon  us — you  understand  me?  My  heart  did 
not  share  in  the  folly.  I  have  loved  you  well ;  but 
I  have  a  certain  perspicacity,  legal  perhaps,  which 
obliges  me  to  see  that  I  do  not  please  you.  It  is  my 
own  fault ;  another  has  been  more  successful  than  I. 
Well,  I  come  now  to  tell  you,  like  an  honest  man,  that 
I  sincerely  love  your  sister  Felicie.  Treat  me  there- 
fore as  a  brother  ;  accept  my  purse,  take  what  yon  will 
from  it,  —  the  more  you  take  the  better  you  prove  your 
regard  for  me.  I  am  wholly  at  your  service  —  icithout 
interest,  you  understand,  neither  at  twelve  nor  at  one 
quarter  per  cent.  Let  me  be  thought  worth j'  of  Felicie, 
that  is  all  I  ask.  Forgive  my  defects  ;  they  come  from 
business  habits ;  my  heart  is  good,  and  I  would  fling 
myself  into  the  Scarpe  sooner  than  not  make  my  wife 
happy." 

"This  is  all  satisfactory',  cousin,"  answered  Mar- 
guerite ;  ' '  but  my  sister's  choice  depends  upon  herself 
and  also  on  my  father's  will." 

"I  know  that,  my  dear  cousin,"  said  the  law^-er, 
' '  but  you  are  the  mother  of  the  whole  family- ;  and  I 
have  nothing  more  at  heart  than  that  you  should  judge 
me  rightly." 


The  Alkahest.  267 

This  conversation  painU  the  miml  of  the  honeai 
notary.  Later  in  Hfe,  Pierquin  became  celebraUtl  by 
his  reply  to  the  commanding  oflicer  at  Saint-Oraer,  who 
had  invited  him  to  be  present  at  a  military  fete ;  the 
note  ran  as  follows:  "Monsieur  Pierquin-Claos  de 
Molina-Nourho,  mayor  of  the  city  of  Douai,  cheva- 
lier of  the  Legion  of  honor,  will  have  that  of  being 
present,  etc." 

Marguerite  accepted  the  lawyer's  offer  only  so  far  a^ 
it  related  to  his  professional  services,  so  that  she  might 
not  in  an}-  degree  compromise  either  her  own  dignity  iw 
a  woman,  or  her  sister's  future,  or  her  father's  authority. 

The  next  day  she  conQded  Fclicie  to  the  care  of 
Martha  and  Josette  (who  vowed  themselves  Ixxly  and 
soul  to  their  joung  mistress,  and  seconded  all  her  econ- 
omies) ,  and  started  herself  for  Waignies,  where  she  l>e- 
gan  operations,  which  were  judiciously  overlooked  and 
directed  by  Pierquin.  Devotion  was  now  set  down 
as  a  good  speculation  in  the  mind  of  that  worthy  man  ; 
his  care  and  trouble  were  in  fact  an  investment,  anti  he 
had  no  wish  to  be  niggardly  in  making  it.  First  ho 
contrived  to  save  Marguerite  the  trouble  of  clearing  the 
land  and  working  the  ground  intended  for  the  farms. 
He  found  three  young  men,  sons  of  rich  farmers, 
who  were  anxious  to  settle  themselves  in  life,  and  he 
succeeded,  through  the  prospect  he  held  out  to  them  of 
the  fertility  of  the  land,  in  making  them  take  leases  of 


268  The  Alkahest. 

the  three  farms  on  which  the  buildings  were  to  be  con- 
structed. To  gain  possession  of  the  farms  rent-free 
for  three  years  the  tenants  bound  themselves  to  pay 
ten  thousand  francs  a  year  the  fourth  year,  twelve 
thousand  the  sixth  j'ear,  and  fifteen  thousand  for  the 
remainder  of  the  term ;  to  drain  the  land,  make  the 
plantations,  and  purchase  the  cattle.  WhUe  the  build- 
ings were  being  put  up  the  farmers  were  to  clear  the 
land. 

Four  years  after  Balthazar  Claes's  departure  from  his 
home  Marguerite  had  almost  recovered  the  property  of 
her  brothers  and  sister.  Two  hundred  thousand  francs, 
lent  to  her  by  Emmanuel,  had  sufficed  to  put  up  the 
farm  buildings.  Neither  help  nor  counsel  was  withheld 
from  the  brave  girl,  whose  conduct  excited  the  admira- 
tion of  the  whole  town.  Marguerite  superintended  the 
buildings,  and  looked  after  her  contracts  and  leases 
with  the  good  sense,  acti\nty,  and  perseverance,  which 
women  know  so  weU  how  to  call  up  when  they  are  ac- 
tuated by  a  strong  sentiment.  By  the  fifth  year  she 
was  able  to  apply  thirty  thousand  francs  from  the 
rental  of  the  farms,  together  with  the  income  from 
the  Funds  standing  in  her  brother's  name,  and  the  pro- 
ceeds of  her  father's  property,  towards  paying  off  the 
mortgages  on  that  property  and  repairing  the  devasta- 
tion which  her  father's  passion  had  wrought  in  the  old 
mansion  of  the  Claes.    This  redemption  went  on  more 


The  Alkaheft.  269 

rapidly  as  the  interest  account  decreased.  Emmanuel 
de  Soils  persuaded  Marguerite  to  take  the  remaining 
one  hundred  thousand  francs  of  his  uncle's  bequi-st, 
and  by  joining  to  it  twenty  thousand  francos  of  his  own 
sa\ings,  pay  off  in  the  third  year  of  her  management 
a  large  slice  of  the  debts.  This  life  of  courage,  priva- 
tion, and  endurance  was  never  relaxed  for  five  years ; 
but  all  went  well,  —  everything  prospered  under  the 
administration  and  influence  of  Marguerite  Clacs. 

Gabriel,  now  holding  an  appointment  under  govern- 
ment as  engineer  in  the  department  of  Koads  and 
Bridges,  made  a  rapid  fortune,  aided  by  his  great- 
uncle,  in  a  canal  which  he  was  able  ^x>  construct; 
moreover,  he  succeeded  in  pleasing  his  cousin  Made- 
moiselle Conyncks,  the  idol  of  her  father,  and  one  of 
the  richest  heiresses  in  Flanders.  In  1824  the  whole 
Claes  property  was  free,  and  the  house  in  the  rue  de 
Paris  had  repaired  its  losses.  Pierquin  made  a  formal 
application  to  Balthazar  for  the  hand  of  Felicie,  and 
Monsieur  de  Soils  did  the  same  for  that  of  Marguerite. 

At  the  beginning  of  January-,  1825,  Marguerite  and 
Monsieur  Conyncks  left  Douai  to  bring  home  the  exiled 
father,  whose  return  was  eagerly  desired  by  all,  mid 
who  had  sent  in  his  resignation  that  he  might  return 
to  his  family  and  crown  their  happiness  by  his  presence. 
Marguerite  had  often  expressed  a  regret  at  not  being 
able  to  replace  the  pictures  which  had  formerly  adorned 


270  The  Alkahest. 

the  galleiy  and  the  reception-rooms,  before  the  day 
when  her  father  would  return  as  master  of  his  house. 
In  her  absence  Pierquin  and  Monsieur  de  Solis  plotted 
with  Felicie  to  prepare  a  surprise  which  should  make 
the  younger  sister  a  sharer  in  the  restoration  of  the 
House  of  Claes.  The  two  bought  a  number  of  fine  pic- 
tures, which  they  presented  to  Felicie  to  decorate  the 
gallery.  Monsieur  Conyncks  had  thought  of  the  same 
thing.  Wishing  to  testify  to  Marguerite  the  satisfaction 
he  had  taken  in  her  noble  conduct  and  in  the  self-devo- 
tion with  which  she  had  fulfilled  her  mother's  dying 
mandate,  he  arranged  that  fifty  of  his  fine  pictures, 
among  them  several  of  those  which  Balthazar  had 
formerly  sold,  should  be  brought  to  Douai  in  Margue- 
rite's absence,  so  that  the  Claes  gallery  might  once  more 
be  complete. 

During  the  3'ears  that  had  elapsed  since  Balthazar 
Claes  left  his  home,  Marguerite  had  visited  her  father 
several  times,  accompanied  by  her  sister  or  by  Jean. 
Each  time  she  had  found  him  more  and  more  changed ; 
but  since  her  last  visit  old  age  had  come  upon  Baltha- 
zar with  alarming  symptoms,  the  gravity  of  which  was 
much  increased  by  the  parsimon}'  with  which  he  lived 
that  he  might  spend  the  greater  part  of  his  salary  in  ex- 
periments the  results  of  which  forever  disappointed  him. 
Though  he  was  only  sixty-five  j^ears  of  age,  he  appeared 
to  be  eighty.     His  eyes  were  sunken  in  their  orbits,  his 


The  Alkahest.  -j;! 

eyebrows  had  whitened,  only  a  few  hairs  reinaintxl  as  a 
fringe  around  his  skull ;  he  allowed  his  boani  to  grow, 
and  cut  it  off  with  scissors  when  its  length  annoveil 
him;  he  was  bent  like  a  field-laborer,  and  the  t«ondi- 
tion  of  his  clothes  had  reached  a  degree  of  wreUhetl. 
ness  which  his  decrepitude  now  rendered  hidetius. 
Thought  still  animated  that  noble  face,  whose  features 
were  scarcely  discernible  under  its  wrinkles  ;  but  the 
fixity  of  the  e3'es,  a  certain  desperation  of  manner,  a 
restless  uneasiness,  were  all  diagnostics  of  insanity,  or 
rather  of  many  forms  of  insanity.  Sometimes  a  tiiish 
of  hope  gave  him  the  look  of  a  monomaniac ;  at  other 
times  impatient  anger  at  not  seizing  a  secret  which 
flitted  before  his  eyes  like  a  will  o'  the  wisp  brought 
symptoms  of  madness  into  his  face ;  or  sudden  bursta 
of  maniacal  laughter  betrayed  his  irrationality :  but 
during  the  greater  part  of  the  time,  he  was  sunk  in 
a  state  of  complete  depression  which  combinetl  all  tlie 
phases  of  insanity  in  the  cold  melancholy  of  an  iiUot. 
However  fleeting  and  imperceptible  these  symptDms 
may  have  been  to  the  eye  of  strangers,  they  were, 
unfortunately,  only  too  plain  to  those  who  had  known 
Balthazar  Claes  sublime  in  goodness,  noble  in  heart, 
stately  in  person,  —  a  Claiis  of  whom,  alas,  scarcely  a 
vestige  now  remained. 

Lemulquinier,  grown  old  and  wasted  like  his  master 
with  incessant  toil,  had  not,  like  him,  been  subjected  to 


272  The  Alkahest. 

the  ravages  of  thought.  The  expression  of  the  old 
valet's  face  showed  a  singular  mixture  of  anxiety  and 
admiration  for  his  master  which  might  easily  have 
misled  an  onlooker.  Though  he  listened  to  Balthazar's 
words  with  respect,  and  followed  his  every  movement 
with  tender  solicitude,  he  took  charge  of  the  servant  of 
science  very  much  as  a  mother  takes  care  of  her  child, 
and  even  seemed  to  protect  him,  because  in  the  vulgar 
details  of  life,  to  which  Balthazar  gave  no  thought,  he 
actually  did  protect  him.  These  old  men,  wrapped  in 
one  idea,  confident  of  the  reality  of  their  hope,  stirred 
by  the  same  breath,  the  one  representing  the  shell,  the 
other  the  soul  of  their  mutual  existence,  formed  a  spec- 
tacle at  once  tender  and  distressing. 

"When  Marguerite  and  Monsieur  de  Conyncks  arrived, 
they  found  Claes  hving  at  an  inn.  His  successor  had 
not  been  kept  waiting,  and  was  already  in  possession  of 
his  oflSice. 


The  AlkaJuit.  278 


XV. 

Through  all  the  preoccupations  of  science,  the  desire 
to  see  bis  native  town,  his  house,  his  family,  a^^LaU-U 
Balthazar's  mind.  His  daughter's  letters  liad  told  him 
of  the  happ}-  familj-  events  ;  he  dreamed  of  crowning 
his  career  b}-  a  series  of  experiments  that  must  lead  to 
the  solution  of  the  great  Problem,  and  he  awaited  Mar- 
guerite's arrival  with  extreme  impatience. 

The  daughter  threw  herself  into  her  father's  arms  and 
wept  for  jo}'.  This  time  she  came  to  seek  a  recompense 
for  yeai's  of  pain,  and  pardon  for  the  exercise  of  her 
domestic  authority.  She  seemed  to  herself  criminal,  like 
those  great  men  who  violate  the  liberties  of  the  jwople 
for  the  safety  of  the  nation.  But  she  shuddered  as  she 
now  contemplated  her  fatlier  and  saw  the  change  whicli 
hud  taken  place  in  him  since  her  last  visit.  Mons'u-ur 
Conyncks  shared  the  secret  alarm  of  his  niece,  and  in- 
sisted on  taking  Balthazar  as  soon  as  possible  Ui  Douai. 
where  the  influence  of  his  native  place  might  restore 
him  to  health  and  reason  amid  the  happiness  of  a.  re- 
covered domestic  life. 

18 


274  The  Alkahest. 

After  the  first  transports  of  the  heart  were  over, 
—  which  were  far  warmer  on  Balthazar's  part  than 
Marguerite  had  expected,  —  he  showed  a  singular 
state  of  feeling  towards  his  daughter.  He  expressed 
regret  at  receiving  her  in  a  miserable  inn,  inquired 
her  tastes  and  wishes,  and  asked  what  she  would 
have  to  eat,  with  the  eagerness  of  a  lover ;  his  man- 
ner was  even  that  of  a  culprit  seeking  to  propitiate 
a  judge. 

Marguerite  knew  her  father  so  well  that  she  guessed 
the  motive  of  this  solicitude  ;  she  felt  sure  he  had  con- 
tracted debts  in  the  town  which  he  wished  to  pay  before 
his  departure.  She  observed  him  carefull}'  for  a  time, 
and  saw  the  human  heart  in  all  its  nakedness.  Bal- 
thazar had  dwindled  from  his  true  self.  The  conscious- 
ness of  his  abasement,  and  the  isolation  of  his  life  in  the 
pursuit  of  science  made  him  timid  and  chUdish  in  all 
matters  not  connected  with  his  favorite  occupations. 
His  daughter  awed  him ;  the  remembrance  of  her  past 
devotion,  of  the  energ}"  she  had  displa3-ed,  of  the  powers 
he  had  allowed  her  to  take  away  from  him,  of  the  wealth 
now  at  her  command,  and  the  indefinable  feelings  that 
had  preyed  upon  him  ever  since  the  day  when  he  had 
abdicated  a  paternity  he  had  long  neglected,  —  all  these 
things  affected  his  mind  towards  her,  and  increased  her 
importance  in  his  eyes.  Conyncks  was  nothing  to  him 
beside  Marguerite  ;  he  saw  onl}'  his  daughter,  he  thought 


The  Alkahest.  275 


::iO 


only  of  her,  and  seemed  to  fear  her,  as  certain  wouk  hus- 
bands  fear  a  superior  woman  who  rules  them.  Wlien 
he  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her,  Marg:uerite  uoticcd 
with  distress  an  expression  of  fear,  like  that  of  a  child 
detected  in  a  fault  The  noble  girl  was  unable  to  n-con- 
cile  the  majestic  and  terrible  expression  of  that  bald 
head,  denuded  by  science  and  by  toil,  with  the  puerile 
smile,  the  eager  servility  exhibited  on  the  lips  and  coun- 
tenance of  the  old  man.  She  suflereil  from  the  contrast 
of  that  gi-eatness  to  that  littleness,  and  resolvixi  to  u»e 
her  utmost  influence  to  restore  her  fiitlier's  sense  of  dig- 
nity before  the  solemn  day  on  which  he  wjus  to  reapiwar 
in  the  bosom  of  his  family.  Her  first  stop  when  lliey 
were  alone  was  to  ask  him,  — 

"  Do  3'ou  owe  anything  here?" 

Balthazar  colored,  and  replied  with  an  embarrassed 
air:  — 

"  I  don't  know,  but  Lemulquinier  can  tell  you.  That 
worth}'  fellow  knows  more  about  my  affairs  than  I  do 
myself." 

Marguerite  rang  for  the  valet :  when  he  came  she 
studied,  almost  involuntarily,  the  faces  of  the  two  old 
men. 

"  "What  does  monsieur  want?"  asked  LemulciuiuiiT. 

Marguerite,  who  was  all  pride  and  dignity,  frit  an 
oppression  at  her  heart  as  she  perceived  from  the 
tone  and  manner  of  the  8er\'ant  that  some  mortifying 


276  The  Alkahest. 

familiaritj^  had  grown  up  between  her  father  and  the 
comiDanion  of  his  labors. 

"  My  father  cannot  make  out  the  account  of  what  he 
owes  in  this  place  without  you,"  she  said. 

"  Monsieur,"  began  Lemulquinier,  "  owes  —  " 

At  these  words  Balthazar  made  a  sign  to  his  valet 
which  Marguerite  intercepted  ;  it  humiliated  her. 

"  Tell  me  all  that  my  father  owes,"  she  said. 

"  Monsieur  owes,  here,  about  three  thousand  francs 
to  an  apothecary  who  is  a  wholesale  dealer  in  drugs ; 
he  has  supplied  us  with  pearl-ash  and  lead,  and  zinc  and 
the  reagents  —  " 

"  Is  that  all?"  asked  Marguerite. 

Again  Balthazar  made  a  sign  to  Lemulquinier,  who 
replied,  as  if  under  a  spell,  — 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle." 

"  Very  good,"  she  said,  "  I  will  give  them  to  you." 

Balthazar  kissed  her  joyously  and  said,  — 

"  You  are  an  angel,  my  child." 

He  breathed  at  his  ease  and  glanced  at  her  with  eyes 
that  were  less  sad ;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  this  apparent 
joy.  Marguerite  easily  detected  the  signs  of  deep  anx- 
iety upon  his  face,  and  felt  certain  that  the  three  thou- 
sand francs  represented  only  the  pressing  debts  of  his 
laboratory. 

"  Be  frank  with  me,  father,"  she  said,  letting  him  seat 
her  on  his  knee  ;  "  you  owe  more  than  that.     Tell  me 


The  Alkahest.  277 

all,  and  come  back  to  your  home  without  an  clement  of 
fear  in  the  midst  of  the  general  joy." 

"My  dear  Marguerite,"  he  said,  taking  her  hands 
and  kissing  them  with  a  grace  that  seemed  a  memory 
of  his  3-outh,  "  you  would  scold  me —  " 

"No,"  she  said. 

"Truly?"  he  asked,  giving  way  to  childish  expres- 
sions of  delight.     "  Can  I  tell  you  all  ?  will  you  pay    -  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  repressing  the  tears  which  camo 
into  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  I  owe  —  oh !  I  dare  not  —  " 

"  TeU  me,  father." 

"  It  is  a  great  deal." 

She  clasped  her  hands,  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  I  owe  thirt}'  thousand  francs  to  Messieurs  Protcz 
and  Chiffreville." 

"  Thirty  thousand  francs,"  she  said,  "  is  just  the 
sum  I  have  laid  by.  I  am  glad  to  give  it  to  you,"  she 
added,  respectfully  kissing  his  brow. 

He  rose,  took  his  daughter  in  his  arms  and  whirled 
about  the  room,  dancing  her  as  though  she  were  an  in- 
fant ;  then  he  placed  her  in  the  chair  where  she  liatl 
been  sitting,  and  exclaimed  :  — 

"  My  darling  child!  my  treasure  of  love  I  I  was 
half-dead  :  the  Chiffrevilles  have  written  rac  three 
threatening  letters ;  they  were  about  to  sue  me,  — 
me,  who  would  have  made  their  fortune ! " 


278  The  Alkahest. 

"  Father,"  said  Marguerite  in  accents  of  despair, 
"are  you  still  searching?" 

"  Yes,  still  searching,"  he  said,  with  the  smile  of  a 
madman,  "  and  I  shall  find.  If  you  could  only  under- 
stand the  point  we  have  reached  —  " 

"  "We?  who  are  we?  " 

"  I  mean  Mulquinier  :  he  has  understood  me,  he  loves 
me.     Poor  fellow  !  he  is  devoted  to  me." 

Conyncks  entered  at  the  moment  and  interrupted  the 
conversation.  Marguerite  made  a  sign  to  her  father  to 
say  no  more,  fearing  lest  he  sliould  lower  himself  in  her 
uncle's  eyes.  She  was  frightened  at  the  ravages  thought 
had  made  in  that  noble  mind,  absorbed  in  searching  for 
the  solution  of  a  problem  that  was  perhaps  insoluble. 
Balthazar,  who  saw  and  knew  nothing  outside  of  his 
furnaces,  seemed  not  to  realize  the  liberation  of  his 
fortune. 

On  the  morrow  i\iey  started  for  Flanders.  During 
the  journey  Marguerite  gained  some  confused  light 
upon  the  position  in  which  Lemulquinier  and  her  father 
stood  to  each  other.  The  valet  had  acquired  an  as- 
cendency over  his  master  such  as  common  men  with- 
out education  are  able  to  obtain  over  great  minds  to 
whom  the  J'  feel  themselves  necessary ;  such  men,  tak- 
ing advantage  of  concession  after  concession,  aim  at 
complete  dominion  with  the  persistency  that  comes 
of  a  fixed  idea.     In  this  case  the  master  had  contracted 


The  Alkahest.  279 

for  the  man  the  sort  of  affection  that  grows  out  of 
habit,  like  that  of  a  workman  for  his  creative  tool,  or 
an  Arab  for  the  horse  that  gives  him  freeilom.  Mar- 
guerite studied  the  signs  of  this  tyranny,  resolving  to 
withdraw  her  father  from  its  humihating  yoke  if  it  were 
real. 

They  stopped  several  days  in  Paris  on  the  way  home, 
to  enable  Marguerite  to  pay  off  her  father's  debts  mid 
request  the  manufacturers  of  chemical  prmlucts  to  send 
nothing  to  Douai  without  first  informing  her  of  any 
orders  given  by  Claes.  She  persuaded  her  father  to 
change  his  style  of  dress  and  buy  clothes  Uiat  %vere 
suitable  to  a  man  of  his  station.  This  corjwral  n'.stor- 
ation  gave  Balthazar  a  certain  physical  dignity  which 
augured  well  for  a  change  in  his  ideas  ;  and  Marguerite, 
joyous  in  the  thought  of  all  the  surprises  that  awaitttl 
her  father  when  he  entered  his  own  house,  started  for 
Douai. 

Nine  miles  from  the  town  Balthazar  was  met  by 
F^licie  on  horseback,  escorted  by  her  two  brothers, 
Emmanuel,  Pierquin,  and  some  of  the  nearest  friends 
of  the  three  families.  The  journey  had  necessarily  di- 
verted the  chemist's  mind  from  its  habitual  thoughts  ; 
the  aspect  of  his  own  Flanders  acted  on  his  heart ;  when, 
therefore,  he  saw  the  joyous  company  of  his  family  and 
friends  gathering  about  him  his  emotion  was  so  keen 
that  the  tears  came  to  his  eyes,  his  voice  trembled,  his 


280  The  Alkahest. 

eyelids  reddened,  and  he  held  his  children  in  so  passion- 
ate an  embrace,  seeming  unable  to  release  them,  that 
the  spectators  of  the  scene  were  moved  to  tears. 

When  at  last  he  saw  the  House  of  Claes  he  turned 
pale,  and  sprang  from  the  carriage  with  the  agility  of  a 
young  man  ;  he  breathed  the  air  of  the  court-yard  with 
delight,  and  looked  about  him  at  the  smallest  details 
with  a  pleasure  that  could  express  itself  only  in  ges- 
tures :  he  drew  himself  erect,  and  his  whole  countenance 
renewed  its  youth.  The  tears  came  into  his  eyes 
when  he  entered  the  parlor  and  noticed  the  care  with 
which  his  daughter  had  replaced  the  old  silver  cande- 
labra that  he  formerly  had  sold,  —  a  visible  sign  that 
all  the  other  disasters  had  been  repaired.  Breakfast 
was  served  in  the  dining-room,  whose  sideboards  and 
shelves  were  covered  with  curios  and  silver-ware  not 
less  valuable  than  the  treasures  that  formerly  stood 
there.  Though  the  family  meal  lasted  a  long  time,  it 
was  still  too  short  for  the  narratives  which  Balthazar 
exacted  from  each  of  his  children.  The  reaction  of  his 
moral  being  caused  b}^  this  return  to  his  home  wedded 
him  once  more  to  family  happiness,  and  he  was  again 
a  father.  His  manners  recovered  their  former  dignity. 
At  first  the  delight  of  recovering  possession  kept  him 
from  dwelling  on  the  means  by  which  the  recover}'  had 
been  brought  about.  His  joy  therefore  was  fuU  and 
unalloyed. 


The  Alkahest.  281 

Breakfast  over,  the  four  children,  the  father  and  Pier- 
quin  went  into  the  parlor,  where  BalUiazar  saw  with 
some  uneasiness  a  number  of  legal  papers  which  the 
notarj-'s  clerk  had  laid  upon  a  table,  by  which  he  was 
standing  as  if  to  assist  his  chief.  The  children  all  sal 
down,  and  Balthazar,  astonished,  remained  standing 
before  the  fireplace. 

"  This,"  said  Pierquin,  "  is  the  giianlianship  account 
which  Monsieur  Claes  renders  to  his  childnn.  It  i» 
not  ver}'  amusing,"  he  added,  laughing  aOer  the  man- 
ner of  notaries  who  generally  assume  a  lively  tone  in 
speaking  of  serious  matters,  "  but  I  must  really  oblige 
you  to  listen  to  it." 

Though  the  phrase  was  natural  enough  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, Monsieur  Claes,  whose  conscience  recalled 
his  past  life,  felt  it  to  be  a  reproach,  and  his  brow 
clouded. 

The  clerk  began  the  reading.  Balthazar's  amazement 
increased  as  little  b}'  little  the  statement  unfolded  the 
facts.  In  the  first  place,  the  fortune  of  his  wife  at  the 
time  of  her  decease  was  declared  to  have  been  sixteen 
hundred  thousand  francs  or  thereabouts  ;  and  the  sum- 
ming up  of  the  account  showed  clearly  that  the  portion 
of  each  child  was  intact  and  as  well-invested  as  if  the 
best  and  wisest  father  had  controlled  it.  In  consequence 
of  this  the  House  of  Claes  was  free  from  all  lien,  Bal- 
thazar was  master  of  it ;  moreover,  his  rural  property 


282  The  Alkahest. 

was  likewise  released  from  incumbrance.  When  all 
the  papers  connected  with  these  matters  were  signed, 
Pierquin  presented  the  receipts  for  the  repayment  of 
the  moneys  former^  borrowed,  and  releases  of  the  vari- 
ous liens  on  the  estates. 

Balthazar,  conscious  that  he  had  recovered  the  honor 
of  his  manhood,  the  life  of  a  father,  the  dignity  of  a 
citizen,  fell  into  a  chair,  and  looked  about  for  Margue- 
rite ;  but  she,  with  the  instinctive  delicacy  of  her  sex, 
had  left  the  room  during  the  reading  of  the  papers,  as  if 
to  see  that  all  the  arrangements  for  the  fete  were  prop- 
erly prepared.  Each  member  of  the  family  understood 
the  old  man's  wish  when  the  failing  humid  eyes  sought 
for  the  daughter,  —  who  was  seen  by  all  present,  with  the 
e3'es  of  the  soul,  as  an  angel  of  strength  and  light  within 
the  house.  Gabriel  went  to  find  her.  Hearing  her  step, 
Balthazar  ran  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  where 
the  old  man  caught  her  and  strained  her  to  his  breast, 
"  I  implore  you  not  to  lessen  your  sacred  authority. 
Thank  me  before  the  famil}'^  for  carrying  out  your 
wishes,  and  be  the  sole  author  of  the  good  that  has 
been  done  here." 

Balthazar  lifted  his  eyes  to  heaven,  then  looked  at 
his  daughter,  folded  his  arms,  and  said,  after  a  pause, 
during  which  his  face  recovered  an  expression  his  child- 
ren had  not  seen  upon  it  for  ten  long  years,  — 


The  Alkaheat.  288 

"Pepita,  wh}-  are  you  not  here  to  praise  our  child  :  " 

He  strained  Marguerite  to  him,  unable  to  utter  an- 
other word,  and  went  back  to  the  parlor. 

"  Mj  children,"  he  said,  with  the  nobility  of  demeanor 
that  in  former  days  had  made  him  so  imj^sing,  "  we 
all  owe  gratitude  and  thanks  to  my  daughter  Marguerite 
for  the  wisdom  and  courage  with  which  she  ha.s  fulfill.d 
my  intentions  and  carried  out  my  plans,  when  I,  too  ab- 
sorbed by  my  labors,  gave  the  reins  of  our  domestic 
government  into  her  hands." 

"Ah,  now!"  cried  Pierquin,  looking  at  the  clock, 
"we  must  read  the  marriage  contractus.  But  lliey  arc 
not  m}'  affair,  for  the  law  forbids  me  to  draw  up  such 
deeds  between  my  relations  and  myself.  Monsieur 
Raparlier  is  coming." 

The  friends  of  the  family,  invited  to  the  dinner  given 
to  celebrate  Claes's  return  and  the  signing  of  the  mar- 
riage contracts,  now  began  to  arrive  ;  and  their  ser- 
vants brought  in  the  wedding-presents.  The  company 
quickly  assembled,  and  the  scene  was  imposing  as 
much  from  the  quality  of  the  persons  present  as  from 
the  elegance  of  the  toilettes.  The  three  families,  thus 
united  through  the  happiness  of  their  children,  seemed 
to  vie  with  each  other  in  contributing  to  the  splendor 
of  the  occasion.  The  parlor  was  soon  filled  with  the 
charming  gifts  that  are  made  to  bridal  couples.  (\oV\ 
shimmered  and  glistened;   silks  and  satins,  ca-shmero 


284  The  AlJcahest. 

shawls,  necklaces,  jewels,  afforded  as  much  delight  to 
those  who  gave  as  to  those  who  received ;  enjoyment 
that  was  almost  childlike  shone  on  every  face,  and  the 
mere  value  of  the  magnificent  presents  was  lost  sight 
of  by  the  spectators,  —  who  often  busy  themselves  in 
estimating  it  out  of  curiosit3\ 

The  ceremonial  forms  used  for  generations  in  the 
Claes  family  for  solemnities  of  this  nature  now  began. 
The  parents  alone  were  seated,  all  present  stood  be- 
fore them  at  a  little  distance.  To  the  left  of  the  par- 
lor on  the  garden  side  were  Gabriel  and  Mademoiselle 
Cony  neks,  next  to  them  stood  Monsieur  de  Solis  and 
Marguerite,  and  farther  on,  Felicie  and  Pierquin.  Bal- 
thazar and  Monsieur  Conyncks,  the  only  persons  who 
were  seated,  occupied  two  armchairs  beside  the  notary 
who,  for  this  occasion,  had  taken  Pierquin's  dutj'.  Jean 
stood  behind  his  father.  A  score  of  ladies  elegantly 
dressed,  and  a  few  men  chosen  from  among  the  nearest 
relatives  of  the  Pierquins,  the  Conyncks,  and  the  Claes, 
the  mayor  of  Douai,  who  was  to  marr}'  the  couples, 
the  twelve  witnesses  chosen  from  among  the  nearest 
friends  of  the  three  families,  all,  even  the  curate  of 
Saint-PieiTC,  remained  standing  and  formed  an  impos- 
ing circle  at  the  end  of  the  parlor  next  the  court-yard. 
This  homage  paid  by  the  whole  assembly  to  Paternit}', 
which  at  such  a  moment  shines  with  almost  regal  ma- 
jesty, gave  to  the  scene  a  certain  antique  character.     It 


The  Alkahest.  285 

was  the  only  moment  for  sixteen  long  ycare  when  Bal- 
thazar forgot  the  Alkahest. 

Monsieur  Raparlier  went  up  to  Marguerite  and  her 
sister  and  asked  if  all  the  persons  in\nted  to  Uie  cx^n?- 
mony  and  to  the  dinner  had  arrived ;  on  receiving  an 
affirmative  reply,  he  returned  to  his  station  and  took 
up  the  marriage  contract  between  Marguerite  ami  Mon- 
sieur de  Solis,  which  was  the  first  to  be  read,  when  sud- 
denly the  door  of  the  parlor  opened  aud  Lcmulquiuier 
entered,  his  face  flaming. 

"  Monsieur !  monsieur !  "  he  cried. 

Balthazar  flung  a  look  of  despair  at  Marguerite,  then, 
making  her  a  sign,  he  drew  her  into  the  ganlcn.  The 
whole  assembly  were  conscious  of  a  shock. 

"I  dared  not  tell  you,  my  child,"  said  the  father. 
"  but  since  you  have  done  so  much,  you  will  save  nie,  I 
know,  from  this  last  trouble.  Lemulquinier  lent  me  all 
his  savings — the  fruit  of  twenty  years'  economy  —  for 
m}'  last  experiment,  which  failed.  He  has  come,  no 
doubt,  finding  that  I  am  once  more  rich,  to  insist  on 
having  them  back.  Ah  !  my  angel,  give  them  to  him  ; 
vou  owe  him  your  father ;  he  alone  consoled  me  in  n)v 
troubles,  he  alone  has  had  faith  in  me,  without  iiim  I 
should  have  died." 

"Monsieur!  monsieur!"  cried  Lemulquinier. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Balthazar,  turning  round. 

"  A  diamond !  " 


286  The  Alkahest. 

Claes  sprang  into  the  parlor  and  saw  the  stone  in  the 
hands  of  the  old  valet,  who  whispered  in  his  ear,  — 

"  I  have  been  to  the  laboratory." 

The  chemist,  forgetting  everything  about  him,  cast  a 
terrible  look  on  the  old  Fleming  which  meant,  "You 
went  before  me  to  the  laboratory  !  " 

"Yes,"  continued  Lemulquinier,  "I  found  the  dia- 
mond in  the  china  capsule  which  communicated  with 
the  battery  which  we  left  to  work,  monsieur  —  and 
see ! "  he  added,  showing  a  white  diamond  of  octahe- 
dral form,  whose  brilliancy  drew  the  astonished  gaze  of 
all  present. 

"  My  children,  my  friends,"  said  Balthazar,  "forgive 
my  old  servant,  forgive  me  !  This  event  wUl  drive  me 
mad.  The  chance  work  of  seven  years  has  produced  — 
without  me  —  a  discovery  I  have  sought  for  sixteen 
years.  How?  My  God,  I  know  not — yes,  I  left  sul- 
phide of  carbon  under  the  influence  of  a  Voltaic  pile, 
whose  action  ought  to  have  been  watched  from  day  to 
day.  During  m^-  absence  the  power  of  God  has  worked 
in  my  laboratory,  but  I  was  not  there  to  note  its  pro- 
gressive effects!  Is  it  not  awful?  Oh,  cursed  exile! 
cursed  chance !  Alas !  had  I  watched  that  slow,  that 
sudden  —  what  can  I  call  it?  —  crystallization,  trans- 
formation, in  short  that  miracle,  then,  then  my  chil- 
dren would  have  been  richer  still.  Though  this  result 
is  not  the  solution  of  the  Problem  which  I  seek,  the 


The  Alkahest.  ^'^T 

first  rays  of  my  glory  would  have  shone  from  ihai  dia- 
mond  upon  my  native  country,  and  this  hour,  which 
our  satisfied  affections  have  made  so  happy,  would 
have  glowed  with  the  sunlight  of  Science." 

Every  one  kept  silence  in  the  presence  of  such  a 
man.  The  disconnected  words  wrung  from  him  by 
his  anguish  were  too  sincere  not  to  be  sublirur 

Suddenly,  Balthazar  drove  back  his  despair  inU)  lUe 
depths  of  his  own  being,  and  cast  uj)on  the  assembly  a 
majestic  look  which  affected  the  souls  of  all ;  he  took 
the  diamond  and  oflered  it  to  Marguerite,  saving,  — 

"It  is  thine,  mv  angel." 

Then  he  dismissed  Lemulquinier  with  a  gesture,  an«l 
motioned  to  the  notary,  saying,  "  Go  on." 

The  two  words  sent  a  shudder  of  emotion  through 
the  company  such  as  Talma  in  certain  roles  producctl 
among  his  auditors.  Balthazar,  as  he  reseated  hinjsclf, 
said  in  a  low  voice,  — 

"  To-da}'  I  must  be  a  father  only." 

Marguerite  hearing  the  words  went  up  to  him  and 
caught  his  hand  and  kissed  it  respectfully. 

"No  man  was  ever  greater,"  said  Emmanuel,  »ii<ii 
his  bride  returned  to  him;  "no  man  was  «ver  so 
mighty  ;  another  would  have  gone  mat!." 

After  the  three  contracts  were  read  and  signiHl.  the 
company  hastened  to  question  Balthazar  as  to  the 
manner  in  which  the  diamond  had  been  formetl ;  but 


288  The  Alkahest, 

he  could  tell  them  nothing  about  so  strange  an  acci- 
dent. He  looked  through  the  window  at  his  garret  and 
pointed  to  it  with  an  angry  gesture. 

"Yes,  the  awful  power  resulting  from  a  movement 
of  fiery  matter  which  no  doubt  produces  metals,  dia- 
monds," he  said,  "  was  manifested  there  for  one  mo- 
ment, by  one  chance." 

"That  chance  was  of  course  some  natural  effect," 
whispered  a  guest  belonging  to  the  class  of  people  who 
are  ready  with  an  explanation  of  everything.  "At 
any  rate,  it  is  something  saved  out  of  all  he  has 
wasted." 

"  Let  us  forget  it,"  said  Balthazar,  addressing  his 
friends  ;  "  I  beg  you  to  say  no  more  about  it  to-day." 

Marguerite  took  her  father's  arm  to  lead  the  way  to 
the  reception-rooms  of  the  front  house,  where  a  sump- 
tuous fete  had  been  prepared.  As  he  entered  the  gal- 
lery, followed  by  his  guests,  he  beheld  it  filled  with 
pictures  and  garnished  with  choice  flowers. 

"  Pictures  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  pictures  !  — and  some 
of  the  old  ones  ! " 

He  stopped  short ;  his  brow  clouded ;  for  a  mo- 
ment grief  overcame  him ;  he  felt  the  weight  of  his 
wrong-doing  as  the  vista  of  his  humiliation  came  before 
his  eyes. 

"  It  is  all  your  own,  father,"  said  Marguerite,  guess- 
ing the  feelings  that  oppressed  his  soul. 


The  Alkahest.  289 

"Angel,  whom  the  spirits  in  heaven  watch  aud 
praise,"  he  cried,  "how  many  times  have  you  given 
life  to  your  father?" 

"  Then  keep  no  cloud  upon  your  brow,  nor  the  1. 
sad  thought  in  your  heart,"  she  said,  '•  and  you  w:U 
reward  me  beyond  my  hopes.  I  have  be<>n  thinking  of 
Lemulquinier,  my  darling  father;  the  few  wonls  you 
said  a  little  while  ago  have  made  me  value  him ;  jx-r- 
haps  I  have  been  unjust  to  him  ;  he  ought  to  nmain 
your  humble  friend.  Emmanuel  has  laid  by  nearly 
sixty  thousand  francs  which  he  has  economized,  and  wc 
will  give  them  to  Lemulquinier.  After  serving  you  »o 
well  the  man  ought  to  be  ma<le  comfortable  for  hin 
remaining  years.  Do  not  be  uneasy  about  us.  Mon- 
sieur de  Solis  and  I  intend  to  lead  a  quiet,  peaceful 
life,  —  a  life  without  luxury ;  we  can  well  alfonl  to 
lend  you  that  money  until  you  are  able  to  return  it." 

"  Ah,  my  daughter !  never  forsake  mi*;  continue  to 
be  thy  father's  providence." 

When  they  entered  the  reception-rooms  Balthazar 
found  them  restored  and  furnished  as  elegantly  tm  in 
former  da3's.  The  guests  presently  descended  to  the 
dining-room  on  the  ground-floor  by  the  grand  staircaBc. 
on  ever}'  step  of  which  were  rare  plants  and  llowiTing 
shrubs.  A  silver  ser\ice  of  exquisite  workmanship, 
the  gift  of  Gabriel  to  his  father,  attracted  all  v\v» 
to  a  luxurj'  which  was  surj^rising  to  the  iuh.nliitants  of 

19 


290  The  Alkahest. 

a  town  where  such  luxuiy  is  traditional.  The  servants 
of  Monsieur  Con^^ncks  and  of  Pierquin,  as  well  as  those 
of  the  Claes  household,  were  assembled  to  serve  the 
repast.  Seeing  himself  once  more  at  the  head  of  that 
table,  surrounded  by  friends  and  relatives  and  happy 
faces  beaming  with  heartfelt  jo}-,  Balthazar,  behind 
whose  chair  stood  Lemulquinier,  was  overcome  by  emo- 
tions so  deep  and  so  imposing  that  all  present  kept 
silence,  as  men  are  silent  before  great  sorrows  or 
great  joys. 

"  Dear  children,"  he  cried,  "  you  have  killed  the 
fatted  calf  to  welcome  home  the  prodigal  father." 

These  words,  in  which  the  father  judged  himself  (and 
perhaps  prevented  others  from  judging  him  more  se- 
verel}-),  were  spoken  so  nobly  that  all  present  shed 
tears ;  they  were  the  last  exj^ression  of  sadness,  how- 
ever, and  the  general  happiness  soon  took  on  the  merry, 
animated  character  of  a  family  fete. 

Immediately  after  dinner  the  principal  people  of  the 
city  began  to  arrive  for  the  ball,  which  proved  worthy 
of  the  almost  classic  splendor  of  the  restored  House  of 
Claes.  The  three  marriages  followed  this  happ}''  day, 
and  gave  occasion  to  many  fetes,  and  balls,  and  din- 
ners, which  involved  Balthazar  for  some  months  in  the 
vortex  of  social  life.  His  eldest  son  and  his  wife  re- 
moved to  an  estate  near  Cambrai  belonging  to  Mon- 
sieur Conyncks,  who  was  unwilUng  to  separate  from  his 


The  Alkahe$t.  291 

daughter.  Madame  Pierquin  also  left  her  father's  hou»o 
to  do  the  honors  of  a  fine  mansion  which  Piertjuin  hati 
built,  and  where  he  desired  to  live  in  all  tlio  di-jnity 
of  rank ;  for  his  practice  was  sold,  and  his  uncle  den 
Racquets  had  died  and  loft  him  a  hin^e  pro|H>rt_v  scrajKnl 
together  by  slow  economy.  Jean  went  to  Paris  to  finish 
his  education,  and  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Solis  alone 
remained  with  their  father  in  the  I  louse  of  Cliu-s.  Hal- 
thazar  made  over  to  them  the  family  home  in  Uie  n»ar 
house,  and  took  up  his  own  alxxle  on  the  second  floor 
of  the  front  building. 


•292  The  Alkahest. 


XVI. 

Marguerite  continued  to  keep  watch  over  her  father's 
material  comfort,  aided  in  the  sweet  task  by  Emman- 
uel. The  noble  girl  received  from  the  hands  of  love 
that  most  envied  of  all  garlands,  the  wreath  that  happi- 
ness entwines  and  constancy  keeps  ever  fresh.  No 
couple  ever  afforded  a  better  illustration  of  the  com- 
plete, acknowledged,  spotless  felicity  which  all  women 
cherish  in  their  dreams.  The  union  of  two  beings  so 
courageous  in  the  trials  of  life,  who  had  loved  each 
other  through  years  with  so  sacred  an  affection,  drew 
forth  the  respectful  admiration  of  the  whole  community. 
Monsieur  de  Solis,  who  had  long  held  an  appointment 
as  inspector-general  of  the  University,  resigned  those 
functions  to  enjo}'  his  happiness  more  freely,  and  re- 
mained at  Douai  where  every  one  did  such  homage  to 
his  character  and  attainments  that  his  name  was  pro- 
posed as  candidate  for  the  Electoral  college  whenever 
he  should  reach  the  required  age.  Marguerite,  who  had 
shown  herself  so  strong  in  adversity,  became  in  pros- 
perity a  sweet  and  tender  woman. 

Throughout  the  following  year  Claes  was  gi'ave  and 


The  Alkahest. 

preoccupied ;  and  yet,  though  he  made  a  few  inexiH'n- 
sive  experiments  for  which  his  onlinary  incomo  sulllctxl. 
he  seemed  to  neglect  his  laboratory.  Margiuriu*  rf- 
stored  all  the  old  customs  of  the  Houso  of  Clac-s.  and 
gave  a  famUy  lete  every  month  in  honor  of  her  father,  at 
which  the  Pierquins  and  the  Conyncks  were  pn'stnt ; 
and  she  also  received  the  upper  ranks  of  socii-ty  oui* 
day  in  the  week  at  a  "  cafe  "  which  became  celebmUtJ. 
Though  frequently  absen^minded,  Clacs  took  part  in 
all  these  assemblages  and  became,  to  please  his  daugh- 
ter, so  willingly  a  man  of  the  world  that  tiie  fumily 
were  able  to  believe  he  had  renounced  his  search  for 
the  solution  of  the  great  problem. 

Three  years  went  by.  In  1828  family  affairs  called 
Emmanuel  de  Soils  to  Spain.  Although  there  were 
three  numerous  branches  between  him.self  and  the  in- 
heritance of  the  house  of  Soils,  yellow  fever,  old  a^je, 
barrenness,  and  other  caprices  of  fortune,  combinetl  to 
make  him  the  last  lineal  descendant  of  tlie  faujily  and 
heir  to  the  titles  and  estates  of  his  ancient  house. 
Moreover,  b}'  one  of  those  curious  chances  which  seem 
impossible  except  in  a  book,  the  house  of  Solis  l»u«l 
acquired  the  territory  and  titles  of  the  Comtes  ile 
Nourho.  Marguerite  did  not  wish  to  separate  from  her 
husband,  who  was  to  stay  in  Spain  long  enough  to  Hctih- 
his  affairs,  and  she  was,  moreover,  curious  to  see  Uio 
castle  of  Casa-Real  where  her  mother  had  passed  her 


294  The  Alkahest. 

childhood,  and  the  city  of  Granada,  the  cradle  of  the 
de  Solis  family.  She  left  Douai,  consigning  the  care 
of  the  house  to  Martha,  Josette,  and  Lemulquinier. 
Balthazar,  to  whom  Marguerite  had  proposed  a  journey 
into  Spain,  declined  to  accompany  her  on  the  ground 
of  his  advanced  age ;  but  certain  experiments  which 
he  had  long  meditated,  and  to  which  he  now  trusted 
for  the  realization  of  his  hopes  were  the  real  reason  of 
his  refusal. 

The  Comte  and  Comtesse  de  Solis  y  Nourho  were 
detained  in  Spain  longer  than  they  intended.  Mar- 
guerite gave  birth  to  a  son.  It  was  not  until  the  middle 
of  1830  that  they  reached  Cadiz,  intending  to  embark 
for  Italy  on  their  way  back  to  France.  There,  how- 
ever, they  received  a  letter  from  Fdlicie  conve3'ing 
disastrous  news.  Within  a  few  months,  their  father 
had  completely  ruined  himself.  Gabriel  and  Pierquin 
were  obliged  to  pay  Lemulquinier  a  monthly  stipend 
for  the  bare  necessaries  of  the  household.  The  old 
valet  had  again  sacrificed  his  little  property  to  his  mas- 
ter. Balthazar  was  no  longer  wiUing  to  see  any  one, 
and  would  not  even  admit  his  children  to  the  house. 
Martha  and  Josette  were  dead.  The  coachman,  the 
cook,  and  the  other  servants  had  long  been  dismissed  ; 
the  horses  and  carriages  were  sold.  Though  Lemul- 
quinier maintained  the  utmost  secrecy  as  to  his  master's 
proceedings,  it  was  believed  that  the  thousand  francs 


The  Alkahest. 


-  '. ) 


.■applied  by  Gabriel  and  Pierquin  were  ijK„i  luuiIv 
on  experiments.  The  small  amount  of  provUions  which 
the  old  valet  purchased  in  the  town  socmetl  to  show 
that  the  two  old  men  contenteil  themselves  with  the 
barest  necessaries.  To  prevent  the  sale  of  the  House 
of  Claes,  Gabriel  and  Pierquin  were  paying  ihf  iutcriht 
of  the  sums  which  their  father  had  jigain  Iwrrowed  on  it. 
None  of  his  children  had  the  slightest  intlnenee  u|)od 
the  old  man,  who  at  seventy  years  of  age  displavoil  ox- 
traordinary  energy  in  bending  everything  to  his  will, 
even  in  matters  tliat  were  trivial.  Gabriel,  Convncks. 
and  Pierquin  had  decided  not  to  pay  off  his  debtu. 

This  letter  changed  all  Marguerit<?'s  travelling  plans, 
and  she  immediately  took  the  shortest  road  to  I)ou.Hi. 
Her  new  fortune  and  her  past  savings  enableil  her  to 
pay  off  Balthazar's  debts ;  but  she  wisheil  to  do  more, 
she  wished  to  obey  her  mother's  last  injunction  and 
save  him  from  sinking  dishonored  to  the  grave.  She 
alone  could  exercise  enough  ascendency  over  the  old 
man  to  keep  him  from  completing  the  work  of  ruin,  at 
an  age  when  no  fruitful  toil  could  be  expectetl  from  his 
enfeebled  faculties.  But  she  was  also  anxious  U)  con- 
trol him  without  wounding  his  susceptibilities.  —  not 
wishing  to  imitate  the  children  of  Sophoc-les,  in  ease  her 
father  neared  the  scientific  result  for  wfiich  ho  htul 
sacrificed  so  much. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  de  SoUs  reached  FlundurH  in 


296  The  Alkahest. 

the  last  days  of  September,  1831,  and  arrived  at  Doua! 
during  the  morning.  Marguerite  ordered  the  coachman 
to  drive  to  the  house  in  the  rue  de  Paris,  which  they 
found  closed.  The  bell  was  loudly  rung,  but  no  one 
answered.  A  shopkeeper  left  his  door-step,  to  which 
he  had  been  attracted  by  the  noise  of  the  carriages ; 
others  were  at  their  windows  to  enjoy  a  sight  of  the  re- 
turn of  the  de  Solis  family  to  whom  all  were  attached, 
enticed  also  by  a  vague  curiosity  as  to  what  would 
happen  in  that  house  on  Marguerite's  return  to  it.  The 
shopkeeper  told  Monsieur  de  Solis's  valet  that  old 
Claes  had  gone  out  an  hour  before,  and  that  Monsieur 
Lemulquinier  was  no  doubt  taking  him  to  walk  on  the 
ramparts. 

Marguerite  sent  for  a  locksmith  to  force  the  door,  — • 
glad  to  escape  a  scene  in  case  her  father,  as  Felicie  had 
written,  should  refuse  to  admit  her  into  the  house. 
Meantime  Emmanuel  went  to  meet  the  old  man  and 
prepare  him  for  the  arrival  of  his  daughter,  despatching 
a  servant  to  notify  Monsieur  and  Madame  Pierquin. 

When  the  door  was  opened.  Marguerite  went  di- 
rectly to  the  parlor.  Horror  overcame  her  and  she 
trembled  when  she  saw  the  walls  as  bare  as  if  a  fire  had 
swept  over  them.  The  glorious  carved  panellings  of 
Van  Huj^sum  and  the  portrait  of  the  great  Claes  had  been 
sold.  The  dining-room  was  empty :  there  was  nothing 
in  it  but  two  straw  chairs  and  a  common  deal  table,  on 


The  Alkahett.  L   7 

which  Marguerite,  terrified,  saw  two  plates,  iwo  L>owU, 
two  forks  and  spoons,  and  the  remains  of  a  salt  honing 
which  Claes  and  his  servant  had  evidently  just  caton. 
In  a  moment  she  had  flown  through  her  father's  portion 
of  the  house,  every  room  of  which  exlxibiu-d  the  wiino 
desolation  as  the  parlor  and  dining-room.  The  idea  of 
the  Alkahest  had  swept  like  a  conflagration  tlirougli  Ihc 
building.  Her  father's  bedroom  had  a  IxhI,  one  chair, 
and  one  table,  on  which  stood  a  miserable  jx'wtor  c-an- 
dlestick  with  a  tallow  candle  burned  almost  to  ibc 
socket.  The  house  was  so  complotA'ly  stripiKHl  that 
not  so  much  as  a  curtain  remained  at  the  windows. 
Every  object  of  the  smallest  value,  — everything,  even 
the  kitchen  utensils,  had  been  sold. 

Moved  by  that  feeling  of  curiosity  which  nevt-r  on- 
tireh'  leaves  us  even  in  moments  of  misfortuni",  Mar- 
guerite entered  Lemulquinier's  chamber  and  found  it  as 
bare  as  that  of  his  master.  In  a  half  opeiu'd  table- 
drawer  she  saw  a  pawnbroker's  ticket  for  the  oUl  sit- 
vant's  watch  which  he  had  pledged  some  days  bofon». 
She  ran  to  the  laboratory  and  found  it  filled  with  stien- 
tific  instruments,  the  same  as  ever.  Then  she  n-turnwi 
to  her  own  appartement  and  ordered  the  door  («.  In- 
broken  open  —  her  father  had  respected  it ! 

Marguerite  burst  into  tears  and  forgave  her  falluT  all. 
In  the  midst  of  his  devastating  fury  he  had  htop|>ed 
short,  restrained  by  paternal  feeling  and  the  jfraiitudo 


298  The  Alkahest. 

he  owed  to  his  daughter !  This  proof  of  tenderness, 
coming  to  her  at  a  moment  when  despair  had  reached 
its  climax,  brought  about  in  Marguerite's  soul  one  of 
those  moral  reactions  against  which  the  coldest  hearts 
are  powerless.  She  returned  to  the  parlor  to  wait  her 
father's  arrival,  in  a  state  of  anxiety  that  was  cruelly 
aggravated  by  doubt  and  uncertainty.  In  what  condi- 
tion was  she  about  to  see  him?  Ruined,  decrepit,  suf- 
fering, enfeebled  by  the  fasts  his  pride  compelled  him 
to  undergo  ?  Would  he  have  his  reason  ?  Tears  flowed 
unconsciousl}'  from  her  ej'es  as  she  looked  about  the 
desecrated  sanctuar}'.  The  images  of  her  whole  life, 
her  past  eflTorts,  her  useless  precautions,  her  childhood, 
her  mother  happy  and  unhappy,  —  all,  even  her  little 
Joseph  smiling  on  that  scene  of  desolation,  all  were 
parts  of  a  poem  of  unutterable  melancholy. 

Marguerite  foresaw  an  approaching  misfortune,  yet 
she  little  expected  the  catastrophe  which  was  about  to 
close  her  father's  life,  —  that  life  at  once  so  grand  and 
yet  so  miserable. 

The  condition  of  Monsieur  Claes  was  no  secret  in  the 
community.  To  the  lasting  shame  of  men,  there  were 
not  in  all  Douai  two  hearts  generous  enough  to  do 
honor  to  the  perseverance  of  this  man  of  genius.  In 
the  eyes  of  the  world  Balthazar  was  a  man  to  be  con- 
demned, a  bad  father  who  had  squandered  six  fortunes, 
millions,  who  was  actually  seeking  the  philosopher's 


The  Alkahest.  290 

stone  in  the  nineteenth  centun-,  this  onlighioncil  tvn- 
tui y,  this  sceptical  couturv,  this  century  !  —  etc.  They 
calumniated  his  purposes  and  brandcil  him  wiUi  the 
name  of  "  alchemist,"  casting  up  to  him  in  i- 
that  he  was  trying  to  make  gold.  Ah  !  what  . 
are  uttered  on  this  great  century  of  ours,  in  whua.  a* 
in  all  the  others,  genius  is  smothered  under  an  indiffer- 
ence  as  brutal  as  that  of  the  age  in  which  Dante  died. 
and  Tasso  and  Ccnantes  and  tutd  quanti.  The  people 
are  as  backward  as  kings  in  understanding  Uie  creations 
of  genius. 

These  opinions  on  the  subject  of  bulUiay.ar  Cl.u.s 
filtered,  little  by  little,  from  the  upiK?r  society  of  I)«>uai 
to  the  bourgeoisie,  and  from  the  bourgeoisie  to  the  lower 
classes.  The  old  chemist  excited  pity  among  |>enu>nft 
of  his  own  rank,  satirical  curiosity  among  Uie  otlicre, 
—  two  sentiments  big  with  contempt  and  with  the  ra« 
victis  with  which  the  masses  assail  a  niaii  of  genius 
when  they  see  him  in  misfortune.  Persons  often  stopjHHl 
before  the  House  of  Claes  to  show  each  other  the  rose 
window  of  the  garret  where  so  much  gold  and  so  mucli 
coal  had  been  consumed  in  smoke.  When  r.altha/ar 
passed  along  the  streets  they  pointed  to  him  with  their 
fingers  ;  often,  on  catching  sight  of  him,  a  mocking  jetit 
or  a  word  of  pity  would  escape  the  lips  of  a  working- 
man  or  some  mere  child.  But  Lemulquinier  was  care- 
ful to  tell  his  master  it  was  homage  ;  he  could  di-fi-iv© 


300  The  Alkahest. 

him  with  impunity,  for  though  the  old  man's  eyes  re- 
gained the  sublime  clearness  which  results  from  the 
habit  of  living  among  great  thoughts,  his  sense  of 
hearing  was  enfeebled. 

To  most  of  the  peasantry,  and  to  all  vulgar  and  su- 
perstitious minds,  Balthazar  Claes  was  a  sorcerer.  The 
noble  old  mansion,  once  named  by  common  consent  "  the 
House  of  Claes,"  was  now  called  in  the  suburbs  and  the 
country  districts  "  the  Devil's  House."  Every  outward 
sign,  even  the  face  of  Lemulquinier,  confirmed  the 
ridiculous  beliefs  that  were  current  about  Balthazar. 
When  the  old  servant  went  to  market  to  purchase  the 
few  provisions  necessary  for  their  subsistence,  picking 
out  the  cheapest  he  could  find,  insults  were  flung  in  as 
make-weights,  —  just  as  butchers  slip  bones  into  their 
customers'  meat,  —  and  he  was  fortunate,  poor  creature, 
if  some  superstitious  market-woman  did  not  refuse  to 
sell  him  his  meagre  pittance  lest  she  be  damned  by  con- 
tact with  an  imp  of  hell. 

Thus  the  feelings  of  the  whole  town  of  Douai  were 
hostile  to  the  grand  old  man  and  to  his  attendant.  The 
neglected  state  of  their  clothes  added  to  this  repulsion  ; 
they  went  about  clothed  like  paupers  who  have  seen 
better  daj's,  and  who  strive  to  keep  a  decent  appearance 
and  are  ashamed  to  beg.  It  was  probable  that  sooner 
or  later  Balthazar  would  be  insulted  in  the  streets. 
Pierquin,  feeling  how  degrading  to  the  family  any  pub- 


The  Alkahe$t.  301 

lie  insult  would  be,  had  for  some  time  past  stiu  two  or 
three  of  his  own  servants  to  follow  the  old  man  when- 
ever he  went  out,  and  keep  him  in  sight  at  a  Utile  iii»- 

tance,  for  the  purpose  of  protecting  him  if  uecc8«ar>-, 

the  revolution  of  July  not  having  contributed  to  make 
the  citizens  respectful. 

B}'  one  of  those  fatalities  which  can  ucvlt  be  ex- 
plained, Claes  and  Lemulquinier  haii  gone  out  earlv  in 
the  morning,  thus  evading  the  secret  guardian»hi|)  of 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Pierquin.  On  their  way  back 
from  the  ramparts  they  sat  down  to  sun  themselves  on  a 
bench  in  the  place  Saint-Jacques,  an  ojx?n  space  crossiii 
by  children  on  their  way  to  school.  Catching  sight 
from  a  distance  of  the  defenceless  old  men,  whose  facc« 
brightened  as  they  sat  basking  in  the  sun,  a  crowil  of 
boys  began  to  talk  of  them.  Generall}*,  children's  ( hat^ 
ter  ends  in  laughter ;  on  this  occasion  the  laughter  Iwi  to 
jokes  of  which  they  did  not  know  the  cruelty.  Seven 
or  eight  of  the  first-comers  stood  at  a  little  distance, 
and  examined  the  strange  old  faces  with  smotln'red 
laughter  and  remarks  which  attracted  Lemulquiuier's 
attention. 

"  Hi !  do  you  see  that  one  with  a  head  as  smooth  aa 
my  knee  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  he  was  bom  a  Wise  Man." 

"  My  papa  says  he  makes  gold,"  said  another. 


302  The  Alkahest. 

The  youngest  of  tlie  troop,  who  had  his  basket  full 
of  provisions  and  was  devouring  a  slice  of  bread  and 
butter,  advanced  to  the  bench  and  said  boldly  to 
Lemulquinier,  — 

"  Monsieur,  is  it  true  you  make  pearls  and  diamonds  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  little  man,"  replied  the  valet,  smiling  and 
tapping  him  on  the  cheek ;  "we  will  give  3'ou  some  if 
you  study  well." 

"  Ah!  monsieur,  give  me  some,  too,"  was  the  gen- 
eral exclamation. 

The  boys  all  rushed  together  like  a  flock  of  birds,  and 
surrounded  the  old  men.  Balthazar,  absorbed  in  medi- 
tation from  which  he  was  drawn  by  these  sudden  cries, 
made  a  gesture  of  amazement  which  caused  a  general 
shout  of  laughter. 

"  Come,  come,  boys ;  be  respectful  to  a  great  man,'* 
said  Lemulquinier. 

"  Hi,  the  old  harlequin !  "  cried  the  lads  ;  "  the  old 
sorcerer  !  3'ou  are  sorcerers  !  sorcerers !  sorcerers  !  " 

Lemulquinier  sprang  to  his  feet  and  threatened  the 
crowd  with  his  cane ;  they  all  ran  to  a  little  distance, 
picking  up  stones  and  mud.  A  workman  who  was  eat- 
ing his  breakfast  near  by,  seeing  Lemulquinier  brandish 
his  cane  to  drive  the  boys  away,  thought  he  had  struck 
them,  and  took  their  part,  crj'ing  out,  — 

' '  Down  with  the  sorcerers !  " 

The  boj's,  feeling  themselves  encouraged,  flung  theii 


The  Alkahest.  303 

missiles  at  the  old  men,  just  as  the  Comie  de  ^\i», 
accompanied  by  Pierquin's  sen-aiita,  apjH'ared  at  iho 
farther  end  of  the  square.  The  latU-r  were  too  Ule, 
however,  to  save  the  old  mau  aud  his  valet  frum  being 
pelted  with  mud.  The  shock  was  given.  iJalUjazar, 
whose  faculties  had  been  preserved  bv  a  cliaiiity  of 
spirit  natural  to  students  absorbed  in  a  quest  of  dis- 
covery that  annihilates  all  passions,  now  suddenly  «li- 
vined,  by  the  phenomenon  of  introsusception,  the  true 
meaning  of  the  scene:  his  decrepit  Ixnly  could  not 
sustain  the  frightful  reaction  he  underwent  in  liia  feel- 
ings, and  he  fell,  struck  with  paralysis,  into  the  ami* 
of  Lemulquinier,  who  brought  him  to  his  home  on  a 
shutter,  attended  by  his  sons-in-law  and  their  siT^anla. 
No  power  could  prevent  the  population  of  Douai  from 
following  the  body  of  the  old  man  to  the  door  of  his 
house,  where  Felicie  and  her  children,  Jean,  Marguerite, 
and  Gabriel,  whom  his  sister  had  sent  for,  were  waiting 
to  receive  him. 

The  arrival  of  the  old  man  gave  rise  to  a  frightful 
scene ;  he  struggled  less  against  the  assaults  of  dtath 
than  against  the  horror  of  seeing  that  his  children  had 
entered  the  house  and  penetrated  the  secret  of  his  im- 
poverished life.  A  bed  was  at  once  made  up  in  the 
parlor  and  every  care  bestowed  ui)on  the  stricken  man, 
whose  condition,  towards  evening,  allowed  hoju's  that 
his   life   might  be   preserved.     The   paralysis,   though 


304  The  Alkahest. 

skilfully  treated,  kept  him  for  some  time  in  a  state  of 
semi-childhood ;  and  when  by  degrees  it  relaxed,  the 
tongue  was  found  to  be  especially  affected,  perhaps 
because  the  old  man's  anger  had  concentrated  all  his 
forces  upon  it  at  the  moment  when  he  was  about  to 
apostrophize  the  children. 

This  incident  roused  a  general  indignation  throughout 
the  town.  By  a  law,  up  to  that  time  unknown,  which 
guides  the  affections  of  the  masses,  this  event  brought 
back  all  hearts  to  Monsieur  Claes.  He  became  once 
more  a  great  man ;  he  excited  the  admiration  and  re- 
ceived the  good-will  that  a  few  hours  earlier  were  denied 
to  him.  Men  praised  his  patience,  his  strength  of  will, 
his  courage,  his  genius.  The  authorities  wished  to  ar- 
rest all  those  who  had  a  share  in  dealing  him  this  blow. 
Too  late,  —  the  evil  was  done  !  The  Claes  family  were 
the  first  to  beg  that  the  matter  might  be  allowed  to 
drop. 

Marguerite  ordered  furniture  to  be  brought  into  the 
parlor,  and  the  denuded  walls  to  be  hung  with  silk  ;  and 
when,  a  few  daj-s  after  his  seizure,  the  old  father  re- 
covered his  faculties  and  found  himself  once  more  in  a 
luxurious  room  surrounded  by  all  that  makes  life  easy, 
he  tried  to  express  his  belief  that  his  daughter  Mar- 
guerite had  returned.  At  that  moment  she  entered  the 
room.  "When  Balthazar  caught  sight  of  her  he  colored, 
and  his  eyes  grew  moist,  though  the  tears  did  not  falL 


The  Alkahtit.  805 

He  was  able  to  press  his  daughu-r's  hand  wiiii  hi*  txiUi 
fingers,  putting  into  that  pressure  all  the  tboughtii,  all 
the  feelings  he  no  longer  had  the  power  to  utter.  Then 
was  something  holy  and  solemn  in  that  farewell  of  the 
brain  which  still  lived,  of  the  heart  which  j;nititu<te 
revived.  Worn  out  by  fruitless  efforts,  exhausied  in 
the  long  struggle  with  the  gigantic  probleuj.  dcsjicr- 
ate  perhaps  at  the  oblivion  which  awailtnl  hia  memory, 
this  giant  among  men  was  about  to  die.  His  children 
suiTOunded  him  with  respectful  affection ;  his  dying 
eyes  were  cheered  with  images  of  plenty  and  U»o 
touching  picture  of  his  prosperous  and  noble  family. 
His  every  look  —  by  which  alone  he  could  manifest  bis 
feelings  —  was  unchangeably  affectionate  ;  his  eyca  ac- 
quired such  variety  of  expression  that  they  had,  as  it 
were,  a  language  of  light,  easy  to  comprehend. 

Marguerite  paid  her  father's  debts,  and  restonnj  a 
modern  splendor  to  the  House  of  Clai-s  which  rem«jvttl 
all  outward  signs  of  its  decay.  She  never  left  the  old 
man's  bedside,  endeavoring  to  divine  his  every  thought 
and  accomplish  his  slightest  wish. 

Some  months  went  by  with  those  alternations  of 
better  and  worse  which  attend  the  struggle  of  life  and 
death  in  old  people  ;  every  morning  his  children  came 
to  him  and  spent  the  day  in  the  parlor,  dining  by  biH 
bedside  and  only  leaving  him  when  he  went  to  Hlo<-p 
for  the  night.    The  occupation  which  gave  him  moel 

20 


306  The  Alkahest. 

pleasure,  among  the  many  with  which  his  family  sought 
to  enliven  him,  was  the  reading  of  newspapers,  to 
which  the  political  events  then  occurring  gave  a  special 
interest.  Monsieur  Claes  listened  attentively  as  Mon- 
sieur de  SoUs  read  them  aloud  beside  his  bed. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  year  1832,  Balthazar  passed 
an  extremely  critical  night,  during  which  Monsieui*^ 
Pierquin,  the  doctor,  was  summoned  by  the  nurse,  who 
was  greatly  alarmed  at  the  sudden  change  which  took 
place  in  the  patient.  For  the  rest  of  the  night  the 
doctor  remained  to  watch  him,  fearing  he  might  at  any 
moment  expire  in  the  throes  of  inward  convulsion, 
whose  effects  were  like  those  of  a  last  agony. 

The  old  man  made  incredible  efforts  to  shake  off  the 
bonds  of  his  paralysis ;  he  tried  to  speak  and  moved 
his  tongue,  unable  to  make  a  sound ;  his  flaming  eyes, 
emitted  thoughts  ;  his  drawn  features  expressed  an  un- 
told agony ;  his  fingers  writhed  in  desperation ;  the 
sweat  stood  in  drops  upon  his  brow.  In  the  morning 
when  his  children  came  to  his  bedside  and  kissed  him 
with  an  affection  which  the  sense  of  coming  death  made 
day  by  day  more  ardent  and  more  eager,  he  showed 
none  of  his  usual  satisfaction  at  these  signs  of  their  ten- 
derness. Emmanuel,  instigated  by  the  doctor,  hastened 
to  open  the  newspaper  to  try  if  the  usual  reading  might 
not  relieve  the  inward  crisis  in  which  Balthazar  was 
evidently  struggUng.     As  he  unfolded  the  sheet  he  saw 


The  Alkdhegt.  807 

the  words,  "  Discovery  of  tue  ABsoLrrE,"  —  which 
startled  him,  and  he  read  a  paragraph  to  ilargueriUs 
concerning  a  sale  made  by  a  celebrated  Polish  mathe- 
matician of  the  secret  of  the  Absolute.  Though  Km- 
manuel  read  in  a  low  voice,  and  ilargucrite  siguetl  to 
him  to  omit  the  passage,  Balthazar  heartl  it. 

Suddenly  the  dying  man  raised  himst-lf  by  hi.s  wri«iii 
and  cast  on  his  frightenetl  children  a  look  which  8truck 
like  lightning;  the  hairs  that  fringeil  tlic  bald  hca«l 
stirred,  the  wrinkles  quivered,  the  features  were  illu- 
mined with  spiritual  fires,  a  breath  passed  across  that 
face  and  rendered  it  sublime  ;  he  raised  a  hand,  ck'nchctl 
in  fur}',  and  uttered  with  a  piercing  ery  the  famous  word 
of  Archimedes,  "  Eureka  !  "  —  I  have  found. 

He  fell  back  upon  his  bed  with  the  dull  sound  of  an 
inert  body,  and  died,  uttering  an  awful  moan,  —  his 
convulsed  e^es  expressing  to  the  last,  when  the  doctor 
closed  them,  the  regret  of  not  bequeathing  to  Science 
the  secret  of  an  Enigma  whose  veil  was  rent  away,  — 
too  late  !  —  b}'  the  fleshless  fingers  of  Death. 


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